The Princess and the Lawyer
by pamelaisbadass
Summary: Ron and Hermione's marriage has fallen apart. After Ron sets out harsh conditions for their divorce, Hermione turns to the best magical lawyer in all of London. That he's tall, blond and her childhood nemesis is just the icing on the pumpkin pasty.
1. We're Not Playing House Anymore

**A/N: Hello, everyone! I've been an avid fanfic reader for over a year now and finally decided to take the plunge and write something. This is the first time that people have, really, seen my work; I'm terrified! Still, I'm dead excited, too. If one person reads this and likes it, I think it might just make my week (I'm having a terrible week...school sucks!) All crit is welcomed. I'll stop rambling now...**

"Ron, for the last time, you can't have the chalet in Chamonix!" Hermione Granger cried, growing increasingly aggravated with her husband.

"Hermione, be reasonable," he tried, ignoring her snort. "You don't even like snow and, what's more, you don't like going on holiday."

She ran her hands through her thick hair and pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing deeply. "That is not the point. It was my first big purchase with the patent money, and I'm keeping it. End of."

After the war, Hermione had turned her efforts towards rehabilitating veterans and, in the process of developing existing potions, she had discovered a clever new pain potion. It was one of the most effective over-the-counter potions and had quickly become a best seller. Upon her lawyer's advice, she bought the patent; the royalties had made her a pretty penny, while the discovery had gained much critical acclaim. She really was turning out to be the brightest witch of her generation, onlookers remarked.

Some of the same onlookers whispered how strange it was that she had settled with Ron Weasley. It was known that he was neither the brains nor the soul of the Golden Trio. What did he bring to the cauldron, they asked? Brawn? In any case, a witch of her calibre could have had so much better. Fewer still muttered that there were a number of pureblood wizards willing to throw down the constraints of tradition, given a chance to woo her. Still, she chose the Weasley, and that was that.

The said Weasley had been married to her long enough to know that when she was this adamant about something, wild hippogriffs couldn't keep her away.

"Fine," he pouted. "But I'm not happy–"

Hermione glanced up from her desk, to see his disembodied head shaking slightly, and interrupted. "Ron, with all due respect, I haven't been happy in a long, long time. Let's just get on with it." She could feel a headache coming on, and she knew from experience that Ronald Weasley induced headaches were very painful, indeed.

Suitably miffed, Ron consulted a list next to him. To Hermione, it looked very odd; while she knew what he was doing, she could only see him turning his head and briefly "oooohing" and "aaaahing".

"Ron!"

"Gimme a minute!" He yelled back.

She rolled her eyes. How on earth had she managed to stay married to him for so long? She sighed and consulted her own list while waiting for him to continue.

"The apartment in Tokyo?" He suggested, hopefully.

"You don't speak Japanese, you don't like sushi and you can't spell anime," Hermione deadpanned, trying to hide her smirk.

"Yes, yes, good one. Laugh at your own bloody joke. I want it, for reasons that will remain my own," he muttered.

Hermione could not resist needling him. Adopting a more reproachful tone, she lectured: "You know they don't take kindly to sex tourism, Ron!"

"Oh, shut up!" His face instantly grew hot and he could feel the blush spreading from his cheeks to his ears, until his face was indistinguishable from his hair. Perhaps, Hermione reasoned with herself, that was a slight over-exaggeration. His hair and his blushing cheeks were _different_ shades of red, just equally as bright. She giggled, it was just so easy to get a rise out of him, she thought.

"You were the one who wanted this, Hermione. Why the hell can't you take it seriously?"

"And what in Merlin's name is that supposed to mean?" She demanded, mood sobering immediately. "Admittedly, I haven't been happy for a long time, but I believe it was walking in on you screwing Susan Bones," she spat the other woman's name, before continuing, "six ways from Sunday that finally snapped me out of my stupor!"

Ron was making a conscious effort to avoid eye-contact. He had walked into this one, he realised.

"How many times would you like to apologise for that?" He asked sadly. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Hermione."

Despite her best efforts, Hermione felt moisture gather in her eyes.

"Until I don't feel so humiliated. Am I such a sad excuse for a woman that I couldn't keep my own husband, the man I once considered to be my best friend, from straying?" She whispered the second part to herself, and Ron didn't answer. She took his silence as an affirmative, but he didn't trust himself to say anything that wouldn't make things worse; she wouldn't believe him if he denied it, and she'd curse him something terrible if he agreed.

It's just that she had been spending so much time at St Mungo's, he thought back. It didn't sound like much, but he had been lonely. And when Susan arrived at the Ministry and was assigned to his department, she picked up on his unhappiness. Being with her made it go away, at least for a time. Of course he had felt guilty, but it became like taking muggle drugs; seeing Susan became like getting his fix. Instead of resenting Hermione for working as hard as she did, he would fuck Susan and get it out of his system before she came home. It was genius, really. Like most men hiding an affair, he never accounted for the 'coming home early' scenario.

While he had been thinking, Hermione had been composing herself. She quickly brushed the tears from her face and took a steeling breath.

"Grimmauld Place," she stated.

"I'm not even gonna try to take that from you," Ron understood her need to keep the former safe house.

Their bargaining continued. Ron kept his rare brooms collection, one of the rarest and most valuable in wizarding England, and Hermione kept every book in their library, including the first edition Gryffindor quidditch playbooks. It might have been petty, but books were hers. They were her thing. Always had been, always would be. She relinquished the Japanese apartment and their summer home in Paris, as well as a townhouse in London, and he offered to tell their friends and his family if she told their children.

Hermione was not looking forward to explaining the situation to their son and daughter. She supposed she had until Christmas until she had to say something; they had only left for Hogwarts a little under a fortnight ago.

Just as they were making arrangements for their lawyers to meet and go over the details of their divorce settlement, an owl flew in her window, landing gracefully on the edge of her desk. Tied to its right foot was a small roll of parchment. She untied the ribbon holding it closed and had hardly begun reading the letter when Professor McGonnagal's voice echoed in the room.

"_Dear Mrs Weasley, _

_I trust you and Ronald are well and that work as a healer is proving to be as satisfying as you envisioned as a girl. Unfortunately, I do not write simply to exchange pleasantries. I would like you to meet me at Hogwarts at your nearest convenience. A situation arose recently, which resulted in one of your children being placed in an extremely compromising position. While the issue is being dealt with within the school, Padma and I feel as though it would be best for you to be aware of certain developments. Please send your reply with Aries. Oh, and Hermione, dear? Give him a little something to eat before he makes the journey back, would you?_

_Minerva."_

Hermione groaned to herself as she poured a bowl of water for the owl. This would be the sixth time this year she had been called into Hogwarts to take responsibility for one of Hugo's wayward pranks. He and Albus were very competitive with their practical jokes, and they felt as though they constantly had to better each other. It did not help that Ron and Harry thought it was hilarious, not to mention George kept supplying them with experimental Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes products. Each product seemed more dangerous and less sensible than the last. Of course, this was its appeal. Hermione would never admit that watching Hugo lust after Pansy Parkinson and Viktor Krum's daughter, Vela, caused by a wayward love potion, was one of the funniest things she had ever witnessed. Nor would she admit just how proud she was of her son for mastering the Densaugeo curse, in retaliation. She would never forget the panic in Albus' eyes as his teeth grew at such an exponential rate. She giggled at the memory.

Having fed and watered Aries, she attached her note to his leg and led him towards the window before watching him fly away, until he was a speck on the horizon.

As she readied herself for bed that night, she felt a twinge of loneliness. It had been so long since her marriage had felt real, and it had been months since she and Ron had been intimate, and while she didn't miss him, she missed a man's touch. She sighed and prepared herself for another night of fitful sleep, but not before taking the edge of her need.

She lay down in bed and pulled the duvet up to her chin. Her fingers began grazing the sides of her breasts, relaxing her. She dipped her finger inside her camisole, and found herself tracing the outline of her nipple. It had already hardened, responding to her touch. She lightly pinched it, beginning to feel a comfortable warmth come alive between her legs. Tired and frustrated, she did not want to deny herself what she needed, and pushing down her knickers, she sighed happily as her fingers made contact with her wet core. She slid two fingers into herself, and gently rubbed her clit with her thumb. But she wasn't looking for a gentle climax. Today, she needed to come and come hard, if she was to get this melancholia out of her system. Her tempo increased and her fingers slid in and out easily, as her hips bucked to meet them. Each thrust created a fiery burn from the inside out. After a few minutes of rushed stroking, she was openly panting and biting her lip with the force of being so close. Not once did she miss a beat on her clit, either. If anything, her thumb moved with such speed that it was virtually a blur. When she felt herself approaching the edge, she took a deep breath and moaned, pumping her fingers into herself harder than she ever had before. Eventually, moaning, she felt herself explode.

Satiated, riding the hedonistic afterglow, she had one thought. She had never expected to picture Ron's face when she orgasmed. She did picture a man, however. He seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she could not recall his face. Just a shock of cold, grey eyes staring into her own as he kissed her between her legs. The image had been so strong that, for a moment, when her mobility returned, she sat up in bed and glanced around her room for a sign that he had been with her. Chastising herself for being so foolish, she chalked it up to a harmless fantasy and fell asleep.

Hermione awoke with a start the next morning. Thinking back to McGonnagal's letter the night before, she recalled reading that Padma Patil, Head of Ravenclaw, had to intervene. But Hugo was in Gryffindor, and not only was Neville Head of Gryffindor, he was a good friend and was used to dealing with Hugo when he got a little out of line. Perhaps Albus had not been on the receiving end of his sense of humour, then. The thought that Rose was the problem never crossed her mind.

**A/N: One chapter's up. There's no going back now, is there? **


	2. Like Father, Like Son

**A/N: Hello, everyone! I'm glad y'all liked the first chapter *grins* and here's the second. Consider this an insight into the life of Draco Malfoy, the wizarding world's perpetual bachelor. Thanks to everyone that reviewed/favourited/story alerted me! I think I replied to all of the reviews, but if I've missed you out or there's something you'd like to ask, or have a question about it for whatever reason, PM me and lemme know. Also, in all my excitement over finally figuring out how to post a story last week, I completely overlooked my beta! Thank you so much to hpgeekforlife! She's doing a great job at tweaking what needs to be tweaked and giving me a prod every now and again. Oh, and sorry – this one's a little shorter than I'd have liked it to be, but I didn't think there was anything I could add without y'all thinking it was 'filler' material. I think the next one might be longer, tho. Without further ado, here's the second chapter! **

"Nobody's home," Draco mumbled in his sleep, ignoring the persistent knocking. He rolled over, drew the girl sleeping next to him closer, and tried to go back to sleep. After a minute or two of pretending he could not hear it, he cursed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Opening them, he blinked, waiting for the world to come into focus. Things were still a little blurry and he rubbed his eyes again, hard enough that he was seeing stars behind his eyelids.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered.

When he could see again, he realised that the knocking did not come from the door. He glanced at the flavour of the week, and then followed the sound, finding a small owl pecking at his kitchen window, rather unrelentingly. It must have been later than he thought; the sun was up. Estimating that it must be eight or nine o'clock, he unlatched the window and let it in, cursing the existence of its entire species for waking him up at this hour. Grabbing a bowl of water for the bird and a small glass of firewhiskey for himself, he settled in front of the fireplace, lighting the fire with an incendiary spell, before unrolling the parchment he had collected from its messenger. He began reading when Professor McGonnagal's voice filled the room.

"_Dear Mr Malfoy, _

_I trust you and Astoria are well and that your work as a magical lawyer is proving to be as everything you expected it to be. I must congratulate you on your decision to study law; I have never been more proud of a student, Mr Malfoy, than I am of you for turning your life around. Know that you will always have both the support of Hogwarts and myself. _

_Unfortunately, I do not write simply to exchange pleasantries. I would like you to meet me at Hogwarts at your nearest convenience. A situation arose recently, which resulted in Scorpius being caught in an extremely compromising position. While the issue is being dealt with within the school, Blaise and I feel as though it would be best for you to be aware of certain developments._

_I suspect Mr Zabini may correspond with you separately. He seems to be most displeased with your son's actions. _

_Please send your reply with Hercules. And make sure he's fed and watered, won't you, Draco? _

_Minerva."_

"Scorpius, Scorpius, Scorpius," Draco muttered. "What have you done this time?" Then he smirked, knowing the similarities between himself and his son, and continued to himself, "or rather, who have you done?" He mused for a while. It must have been something truly spectacular to have Blaise Zabini on his case. After all, the man had been a close friend of the family since Draco's own school years and had come very close to becoming Scorpius' Godfather – a title which had gone to his work colleague and long time friend, Theodore Nott.

Draco recalled a conversation he, Theo and Blaise had, one night in fifth year.

_The boys had convinced the house elves to get them a few bottles of butterbeer and some pumpkin pasties for a midnight snack. They were the only ones still up, lounging about in the Slytherin common room when Blaise decided to glean the truth from rumours that had been floating around the dungeons for the last few days. _

"_Draco?" he ventured, innocently enough._

_The blond boy quirked an eyebrow, indicating his friend continue. _

"_What's this I heard about you having both Patil twins in your bed last week?" Blaise could hardly contain his good-natured envy._

_Before Draco could say a word, Theo spoke. Even then, he had been a man of few words, so it was evident that the revelation had caught him slightly off guard. _

"_Both twins? Together or on different nights?" Nott asked, interest sufficiently peaked. _

"_Gentlemen, you can't expect me to divulge that information! A good man never kisses and tells." Draco's smirk was enough for the boys to draw their own conclusions, but Theo was not impressed. _

"_Ugh," he groaned. "I fucked Parvati last week!"_

_Draco laughed._

_Theo continued. "The way I see it, there are only two ways it could have gone. Either it would have been before you, in which case she would have seen me as a terrific lover," he paused, adding, "that would be the better scenario," as an afterthought. "Or, she had me after you, in which case I can't possibly have measured up to the Slytherin Sex God. In any case, I draw the short straw since you got both of them! Damn you, Draco Malfoy!" He looked genuinely peeved, and Draco could not help gleaning amusement from his friend's obvious frustration. _

"_Yes, well it seems Parvati isn't the good little Gryffindor Potter and his friends want her to be, eh? Who would have thought that a Gryffindor would become the Hogwarts broom!" he commented, and the boys burst into snarky laughter. _

"_Speaking of Gryffindor minxes, the mudblood cleans up well, don't you think?" suggested Blaise, rather unexpectedly. _

_Nott considered it. "I suppose so. She's pretty enough, and can you just imagine her looking up at you with those big brown eyes, full pink lips wrapped around your –" _

_Draco interrupted. "What has gotten into you idiots? This is Granger we're talking about. The mudblood know-it-all? Remember? She's so far beneath us, it's funny. The only things attracted to her are owls, tempted to nest in her hair. Oh, and Weaselbee. He's been trying to get in her knickers for years," he sniggered. He glanced at his friends and noticed that they seemed uncomfortable._

"_Calm down, Drake," Theo recommended. "We were hardly proposing to her, just suggesting she might be worth a ride." _

"_Yes, well, whatever. Don't expect me to pretend to find her attractive just because you're fighting the effects of a misplaced bludger. We're three attractive, intelligent, wealthy young men. Why the hell would we want to waste our time and effort pleasing a mudblood? She's worth less than the cheapest whore." The other boy dismissed. _

_Theo looked momentarily angry, before supressing the urge to hit his friend. Unbeknownst to Draco, Blaise had briefly wondered if it were a case of the gentleman doth protest too much._

Forcing himself back to reality, he realised he was uncomfortable with his unflinching attitude towards the Granger girl. After seeing her from afar at a Ministry event a few weeks ago, he could conclude that she really had grown to be a pretty little thing, and the hair that had once been the bane of her existence was as thick as ever, but glossy and under control.

Glancing over the letter again, he snorted at the owl's name: Hercules. It was cute, in a pathetic sort of way, he supposed. But whoever had named the scrawny little owl must have had one hell of a sense of humour. He absentmindedly stroked the bird with one finger as he considered blowing off work and going back to bed. Eventually, he decided against it. Had to prove he was an upstanding citizen and all that, didn't he? He smiled ruefully. Since his father had been led to Azkaban and eventually given the Dementor's Kiss, he had done nothing but attempt to restore the family name. He must have been successful, to an extent; McGonnagal's praise was bloody hard to come by!

Heading to his bedroom to pick up work robes, he thought about the woman in his bed. What was her name? Ava? Avery? Something like that. He may not have known her name, but he knew she knew him. They all did, or thought so anyway. Like one fuck suddenly made them lovers. He wasn't cheating these women – they knew he was looking for a one night stand, or a booty call, if they were lucky. He hated the term, it was so American. Still, Brits had yet to advocate casual sex, never mind coin a phrase for it, he thought, chuckling.

He wondered what his wife was doing. Astoria had left for Cancun a few days earlier. She was going to Mexico for, and he quoted, "Sun, sand, and sex. Oh, and tequila. Lots and lots of tequila," she had added as an afterthought. There was a muggle musician performing there in a couple of days and she was determined to bed him. Enrique something. He didn't see the appeal; a song about table tennis? It was the stupidest of all muggle sports, in his opinion. To think women all over the world fell for the schmuck!

Draco and his wife had an open relationship, to say the least. Once they had had Scorpius and he was old enough to be attending Hogwarts, they had started becoming less concerned with discretion. Still, Draco liked to think that Scorpius was clueless as to his parents' extra-curricular activities. Of course, the reality of it was that his son was the brightest wizard in his year, second only to Granger's daughter, Rose. He laughed bitterly. History had a knack for manifesting itself again, didn't it? There was no way they could hide their arrangement from their son. Scorpius knew exactly what was going on, or rather the absence of it, in his parents' marriage, and he hated it.

Shaking his head to clear it, he pulled out dark navy robes and a burgundy silk necktie. Dressed in five minutes, he shook Avery from her sleep.

She looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, clearly still drowsy. "Baby, why are you dressed?" She giggled. "We both know you don't have to work a day in your life," she reminded him.

Draco scowled, and his manners all but evaporated. At that moment, he hated her for reminding himself from the legacy he had worked so hard to leave behind. He did not women like her constantly serving to remind her that the Malfoy fortune had given him more money than he could spend in one lifetime. All he had had to do was trap himself in a loveless marriage, to a witch he couldn't stand, never mind care for. Scorpius was the highlight of their dalliance, as far as he was concerned, and he loved his son more than anything. Unfortunately for their dysfunctional family dynamic, being a Malfoy was synonymous with being impassive; although he was unbelievably proud of his son, Draco found it difficult to tell him or show him. He blamed this on his own daddy issues, but that was a story for another time, he thought bitterly. Angry, by now, and feeling vindictive, he took out his foul mood on the girl.

"I want you out of my house when I return," he told her harshly, and apparated to Hogwarts, not even staying long enough to see her to drag herself out of his bed, cheeks colouring and eyes filling with angry tears at his treatment of her.

**Whaddya you think? The beautiful thing about Harry Potter is how much scope we're given to interpret the story and its characters, but this sometimes causes problems; do you think this is how Draco sounds in your head? Writing him is challenging.**


	3. Dirty Little Secret

**A/N: *waves* so, when I asked my beta how frequently I should post, she suggested I leave about a week between chapters. Always one to disappoint, I really enjoyed writing this chapter and I think y'all will like reading it, so here it is – only three days after I posted the last one! I only ask one thing of my readers; I go to school and writing will be sporadic most of the time, but I really have faith in this story and I'm having a blast writing it, so I won't forget about it. But forgive me if I give you two or three chapters in one week and then nothing for two. Oh, and review or die ;) **

**This chapter is loooong (by my standards anyway, I've seen the fics with 10,000 word long chapters!). It would have been longer, except my beta convinced me to hold off on the lemons. They're not getting any easier to write, btw! Still, enough rambling. Let me know what you think of this more lighthearted chapter. MUCH LOVE 3**

If anyone had been wandering the halls of Hogwarts on the night of the first Quidditch match of the season, they might have strolled past the potions classrooms. Had they done so, they might have heard a faint high pitched giggling, followed by a moan or two. Had they chosen to investigate, they would have found a young man and woman, from very different sides of the track, and with a history every bit as colourful as those rainbows that held such fascination with muggles, embracing passionately on the potion master's desk.

The students in question were two of the most recognisable in school. Each had a very distinctive hair colour, a shorter temper than the other and family histories that divided and united Hogwarts

When they got together, however, their chemistry was explosive. The very air surrounding them was often charged with barely repressed sexual tension and to watch them eye each other up across a room was sometimes too much.

Earlier that night the two students had been at a victory party in the Slytherin common room. The firewhiskey had been flowing freely, and one of the muggle-borns had managed to get hold of some contraband muggle spirits and a stereo. A little magical tweaking went a long way and after a complex mix of amplifying and silencing spells, the common room had been transformed into a cross between a house party and a rager. The beauty of the spells lay in the fact that the students could be as loud as they wanted, have the music up as far as it went, and the teachers would not have heard anything even if they had been stood outside the fat lady herself. James Potter II had invented the useful charm and passed it down to the next generation of partying teenagers.

"Oi, Albus!" Rose yelled at her cousin from across the other side of the common room.

Nose wrinkled distastefully, she noticed that he was too preoccupied with melding his face to Vela Parkinson-Krum's to take any notice of her. Rolling her eyes, Rose gestured to her friend, Alice Longbottom, pointing to herself and then to the door; she was leaving. She weaved her way through the throng of celebrating teenagers, until she felt cool fingers encircle her wrist, stopping her.

"Did you think I'd let you leave without even saying hello?" A silky voice whispered in her ear. A voice she'd know everywhere, and one that did delicious things to her core without meaning to.

Rose felt her cheeks colouring as the owner of the voice gently spun her around so that they faced each other. She found herself looking up into none other than Scorpius Malfoy's face.

Damn it, she thought. The one person she had been trying to avoid all evening had her cornered. What was it muggles called it? Sod's Law, she remembered. Sod's bloody law.

Whilst doing everything to avoid looking him in the eye, concentrating on a spot just above his right ear, she could feel his gaze appraising her and she had to remind herself that she had not dressed for him this evening. It was just coincidence that she had sprayed herself with his favourite perfume. He had given it to her the previous Christmas and it was a wizarding blend that replicated some of the characteristics of amortentia; it smelt differently to each witch or wizard, depending on their aphrodisiac . Nor did her decision to wear her black leather boots have anything to do with the fact that he had once told her that his only unfulfilled fantasy was fucking her wearing nothing but those heeled black boots. Nope, nothing at all. Oh, Merlin, she thought. Could her face get any hotter?

Risking a glance at his face, Rose's entire demeanour changed. She had inherited her father's quick temper and her mother's wit, and seeing the smirk playing across Scorpius' lips incensed her.

"What in Merlin's beard do you want?" She asked angrily.

"Oh, Rosie, let's not do this, shall we?" He replied.

"Do what? I'm not doing anything. In fact, I was just leaving, before I was so rudely interrupted," she pointed out, poking her finger into his chest.

He caught both her hands with one of his own, and her gaze in the same moment.

"Can we talk? I know you're pissed off at me because of the thing with Eloise–" he began, before she stopped him.

"Scorpius, I don't care what you do with Eloise. Or Beryl or Caitlyn or any of the others," she found her voice giving her away.

"Rosie," his voice softened, "please."

Rose sighed.

"Just stay for one drink?" he pleaded.

Annoyed at her lack of resolve, she looked at him, really looked at him. Unlike most days, his grey eyes were warm and sincere. The hand that wasn't holding her own had just run through his hair, a nervous habit, Rose remembered.

She rolled her eyes and answered him.

"Fine, one drink, but on my terms," she agreed, silently promising herself to pay him back later. No-one likes a serious case of blue balls, she thought, giggling to herself.

Scorpius was oblivious to her good-natured scheming. Although he was relieved that she'd forgiven him, he was surprised that he had not had to work harder; he supposed he probably should have guessed, given the identity of her father, but his Rose was a spitfire. And a jealous one at that. But, he reasoned with himself, as he grabbed her hand and led her to liquid salvation, her tenacity was one of the things he liked best about her.

Firewhiskies in hand, he pulled Rose onto his lap as they sat with Albus.

Unfortunately, being in such close proximity to this particular Potter so soon after a match-winning catch was a bad, idea.

"Ravenclaw was a hundred points ahead, and without the snitch, we had no hope," Albus began regaling their group with the story of his catch, for the fifteenth time that evening.

"You're quite right, Al," Rose interrupted, with a smirk. "Boot and Gold played one hell of a game as the Ravenclaw chasers," she continued, seemingly oblivious to her cousin's ire. "Really, where were your chasers? One might think that they'd decided to sit this one out, for all the good they did!"

Scorpius laughed out loud, he just could not help himself.

Albus glared at his friend, who had the good sense to look chastised, and ignored Rose as he launched back into his story.

Rose relaxed into Scorpius as he traced nonsensical patterns onto her thigh. She smiled. Perhaps they would never be able to have a 'normal' relationship, but what they had was enough for her. She cared for him and he cared for her. They got great sex whenever they wanted it and there was no chance of feelings making things messy. Yes, she nodded, it was perfect.

She realised she had zoned out, not that it had discouraged Al at all. As long as Perky Parkinson kept staring at him with pure adoration in her eyes, he was not going to stop any time soon.

"And then I dived forward, somersaulting as I did so, and my fingers scraped over one wing and I tried to close my fist around it but a bludger came flying out of nowhere, effectively crushing my hand! Still, I didn't let go of that little blighter for a second! I nearly blacked out from the pain, and fell off my broom in the process, but I didn't let go! By the time I'd landed on the pitch, in something of a crumpled heap, really, I was surrounded by the team. I'd won the match, turned the whole season around," Albus finished, very pleased with himself.

"While that's a fascinating story, Al, and really, it was just as fascinating fourteen times ago, you don't have a cast or plaster or anything on your hand. And I've been with you since you left the pitch, so I know you haven't been to see Madame Abbot," Scorpius needled him.

"Oh, ignore them, Albus!" Vela finally spoke, to interject passionately on behalf of her hero. "Scorpius is just jealous that he didn't play better."

Rose bristled, ready to give the Parkinson-Krum girl a piece of her mind. Before she could say anything, though, Scorpius laid a hand of warning on her midriff.

Sighing, she stood up, taking his hand in hers and effectively pulling him up with her.

"We're leaving," she announced to Al, "feel free to come and find us once you've ditched your little groupie."

Vela looked momentarily offended, until Albus put his arm around her and proceeded to put his tongue in her mouth. That cheered her up, and shut her up, rather quicklRose pretended to retch, before leading Scorpius to the drinks table for refills.

Niklaus Zabini was in his element, she thought, with one arm around Lily Potter and the other pouring drinks for the long line of women queuing up for a moment of his attention. Lily looked bored, but every now and again Nik would lean in and whisper something in her ear that had her giggling and blushing bright red.

Scorpius yelled for his friend and he and Rose cut to the front of the line.

Rose noticed many of the girls glaring at her and smirked to herself. She found herself getting a touch territorial when one got too close to him and, winking at him as she did so, kissed Scorpius on the mouth.

She had only intended it to be a sloppy peck, but he had other ideas and deepened it. His tongue traced her bottom lip and, when she relaxed into him, he slipped it into her mouth. Their breathing grew heavy and she could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing into her stomach. Slipping her hand in between them, she roughly palmed him for the briefest moment, teasing him. She grinned against him and pulled away only to wrap her arm tightly around his waist when Nik yelled at them to 'get a room or let someone else join in'.

Scorpius took a deep breath before opening his eyes. His face grew warm as he realised that the whole room had been staring at them as they got it on. Rose surprised him by looking smug and a little excited, instead of embarrassed. Was his minx harbouring a secret voyeuristic fantasy? The very thought made him almost painfully hard.

"Show's over, kids," he barked at their audience, before manoeuvring Rose in front of him, thus hiding his erection.

To her, he leaned in and whispered, "I think you've teased me long enough. Don't think I didn't notice you wearing those boots, Rosie. I know you know they drive me crazy," her eyes darkened with lust as they moved away from the crowd, towards the stairs leading to his room. "And that skirt?" In all the celebration and distraction, he had noticed she was wearing his favourite 'fuck me' boots, but he had disregarded the rest of her outfit. He realised, with a smirk, that she'd dressed entirely for him. Of course, there were those insane high heel boots that made her legs look long and supple, and her arse perky. Above them, a skirt just long enough to be decent, but short enough that he got an eyeful of emerald green silk whenever she bent forward slightly, and a chiffon blouse that seemed innocent enough, except he knew that it laced up the back, providing for erotic foreplay as he unlaced it. Judging by her reaction to the sudden breeze, she was either going commando, or wearing a very nominal bra, he grinned.

As she led him towards the stairs, Rose made a conscious effort to sway her hips that little bit more, knowing that Scorpius was staring at her. She giggled as the pictured him lying in bed, with the world's most awful case of blue balls, as she suddenly put her clothes back on and fled.

Still, all conscious thought flew from her mind as Scorpius pulled her body flush with his and traced butterfly kisses across the length of her jaw, trailing them down her neck. She sighed, relaxing completely against the door to his dormitory. He felt as though he had to make it up to her, she noticed gleefully. She could use that to her advantage, she thought; why couldn't she get a couple of orgasms before she left him high and dry? He practically owed it to her, she justified. And besides, it was these games that kept their sex life so interesting.

She let him work at her neck, leaning into him as he nibbled across the very base of her neck, leading to her clavicle, where he slid her shirt sleeve down and proceeded to press hot, open kisses to the delicate bone. Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her face upwards, lips pursed. Scorpius knew that face, she wanted a kiss. He indulged her, first pecking her on the lips, before trailing a slew of baby kisses to her ear. There, he grazed his teeth over her earlobe, before taking the small muscle into his mouth, sucking deeply. He was doing something right, he thought, as she moaned softly. Licking along her jaw line, he returned to her mouth. He kissed her deeply, tongue begging passionately for entrance. As she granted it, he swept the muscle into her mouth, tracing her tongue and palate. Rose, enjoying the contact, pressed herself closer to him whilst simultaneously fumbling for the doorknob.

Scorpius tore himself away from her briefly, to mutter, "alohomora". Returning his lips to hers, he pushed the door open.

"Scorpius? Rose?" Cried Albus, his voice accompanied by a thud as he ungraciously threw his female companion off the bed.

"What are you doing? Get the hell out!"

Separating, the couple realised the bedroom was occupied by none other than Albus and Vela.

Shielding her eyes, Rose retreated, muttering apologies to anyone who would listen.

"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin," she chanted, horrified.

Shutting the door behind him, Scorpius and Rose looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"I can't believe that just happened," she said, as he spoke in the same moment.

"That was fucked up!"

They laughed again.

Rose noticed that he still had a hard-on and, despite the awkward interruption, she was still in the mood. A plan started to unravel in her head, and she congratulated herself on her genius.

"Scorpius?" She asked, mock hesitantly. "I know somewhere we can be," her voice lowered and took on a husky tone before continuing, "alone."

At this point Scorpius had started to think he would have to relieve himself, so he grasped the opportunity.

"I'm all ears," he told her.

"No, no," she said, tracing a finger down his chest, "let me show you."

With that, she led him out of the common room and into the dungeons. After all, salacious as their relationship might be, he was her dirty little secret.

**A/N: I have a question! Does anyone know how to get those line breaks in fanfics? Like when authors separate a prologue or flashback from the rest of the text? HELP ME.**


	4. The Paintings Never Sleep

**A/N: Hi, guys! I know it's been just over a week (I think..) since I last posted, but school's started again and I don't really think I can post any more frequently than that. So...lemon time. I really don't like writing lemons. I just feel like I'm a little kid playing dress up or something, like it's not something I'm mature enough to do. But meh, what's an M without some sexytime, eh? I hope this one's okay, my beta hpgeekforlife (WHO I FORGET TO THANK ALL THE TIME) is awesome and had a look at it for me, as did froggirl101. Both lovely ladies eased my panic a little bit. So shout outs for them, they're great. Oh, and I've been forgetting to put disclaimers in and stuff but I assume my readers are intelligent enough to realise that I'm not stealing JKR's work, she's bloody brilliant and I'm just a teenager with too much time on her hands.**

**In other news, DID YOU HEAR? JKR'S WRITING AGAIN! *wees herself with excitement***

**If you like it, let me know, if you don't please, please, please let me know! **

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><p>In her nearly seventeen years of existence, Rose Weasley had become very good at improvising. It was improvisation that found her leading Scorpius Malfoy, her on againoff again lover to the potion master's office. Well, improvisation and her father's tendency to hold grudges.

What she had not anticipated, however, was losing control of the seduction.

As she pulled him along, they found that the short distance between the Slytherin common room and the potions' master's office took longer to cover when one was stopping to passionately snog the other every fifteen seconds.

No sooner would Scorpius pin her against a wall, his mouth hot against her exposed skin that she would wriggle out from under him and keep moving. It was driving him insane, as she was well aware, exciting and frustrating him in equal measure. He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair and caught one of hers in the other. He spun her around to face him, drawing her close to his body. Close enough that she could feel his hardness, she noticed.

Drawing himself to his full height, and projecting all his lust for her in his darkened eyes, he bent slightly to whisper in her ear, delighted as he watched goosebumps rise against her flush skin.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, none too gently.

"You'll see," she whispered back, before turning and moving forwards.

"No," he said, more roughly, and stopped her. "I've followed you all night, Rose. Where are you taking me?" he demanded.

Rose, utilising those feminine wiles her mother forbade her from using to get ahead, shut him up as she reached on her tiptoes and, pulling his head down to hers, kissed him softly.

"You trust me, don't you?" she looked at him innocently, from under her eyelashes.

He sighed, knowing there was only one way this could go. He muttered an affirmative and watched her face light up. This woman would be his undoing, he thought ruefully. He placed her delicate hand in his and wrapped his fingers around hers, effectively surrendering himself to her.

Rose smiled, genuinely, and pecked him on the lips. Of course, given the almost palpable tension between them, the peck turned into a longer, deeper kiss that left her breathless. Scorpius touched his forehead to her and placed the lightest of all kisses on the tip of her nose.

"Breathing through your nose helps when you're kissing. That way, one doesn't faint and require a visit to the hospital wing," he smirked.

Rose smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand and mock glared at him.

"You're killing the mood," she accused him.

Instantly, his eyes darkened with lust again. She noticed that they held a touch of mischief, too.

"Rosie," he began, voice low, virtually growling. She felt her heart race; she knew that tone. Good things were coming her way, very good things. Scorpius, very aware of his effect on her, continued, "Since I'm killing the mood, what would you say to resurrecting it?"

"I'm listening," she breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

"How opposed are you to fucking me in the corridor?"

Taking the parting of her lips and instant flush of her skin as an affirmative, he stepped forward, forcing her to take one step back. He stepped forward again and, as she stepped back, she felt the cool brick behind her. He had backed her into a wall and was so close that she could feel him breathe. She could feel his heart rate jumping slightly, could see his eyes roving over her, hungry. With one finger, he tilted her chin up, and pressed his lips to hers. At first, he was soft, gentle, coaxing entrance. Soon, though, their kisses were becoming heated, a lot less gentle. She tugged his bottom lip into her mouth and nipped at it slightly, before wrapping her arms around his neck. He let his hands rest lightly on her arse as he returned the favour, breaking away only to breathe and, even then, kissing into her cleavage. She sighed happily, becoming increasingly aroused.

Feeling entirely too hot and bothered, Rose pushed them both forwards so she had room to move. With one clean sweep, she pulled her jacket off and threw it to the floor. Reaching behind Scorpius' head, she pulled him downwards, bringing them closer. At the same time, she turned them so that he had his back to the wall. Breathing heavily, her fingers reached for the buttons of his shirt. As each button came undone, she pressed a single open mouthed kiss to his chest. Although he was mostly hairless, the slight fuzz he did have tickled her nose and she smiled against his torso.

When his shirt was unbuttoned fully to his naval, she slid her fingers across his shoulders and tugged at his shirt sleeves, letting him know that she wanted it all off. He discarded it without so much as glancing at its place of landing. She ran her fingers down his chest, digging her nails in ever so slightly, until she had arrived at his belt buckle. Dipping her fingers into the waistband of his trousers, she felt him wriggle.

"No, no, not yet," he muttered, breaking away from her for a second. "I want you first,".

Rose grinned, suspecting it was going to be all about her for a while. Even in her hazed, lust-filled mind, her plan was playing out perfectly; he was helping! She was surprised that she'd consented to the corridor, however. At least classrooms had lockable doors, she thought. But then, she was struck by a fleeting thought; the idea of getting caught excited her. The very notion that McGonagall or Zabini or even other students could stumble upon them had her going slightly weak at the knees, moisture pooling between her thighs. She idly wondered if Scorpius could smell her arousal yet.

"Rose? We should probably do the contraceptive spell before we get too distracted to care."

She nodded and pulled her wand out of her boot. It dampened their lust, slightly, but was necessary.

"Impede infans," she said clearly, pointing her wand at her stomach.

Looking back at Scorpius, she bent over slowly, pocketing her wand back in the boots.

He looked like he'd been hit by a bus, she observed. Men, she thought, so easy to please.

Thinking that she may as well give him a show, she hooked her thumbs into either side of her skirt and, bending over again, pulled it down under it lay in a puddle at her ankles, leaving her in nothing but her blouse and emerald green silk knickers. Stepping out of the skirt daintily, she kicked it to one side.

She turned around and presented her back to him so he could unlace her out of the constraints of her blouse. Scorpius stepped close to her, close enough that she could feel his erection against her arse, and breathed hotly on her neck. She couldn't help rubbing against him, griding a little into his erection. He groaned and nearly took her roughly from behind. Taking deep breaths, Scorpius reminded himself that he was apologising. This was about Rose. Quickly, he conjured up the most unsexy images possible; Hagrid in a bikini, Hagrid in a bubble bath, Hagrid passionately kissing Madame Maxime.

Ugh, he thought, mentally retching. It had definitely taken care of his little problem, and he continued as though there had been no interruption, not realising that Rose's shoulders were not shaking because she was so aroused (although she was) but rather from laughter as she was aware of why he had needed the time out.

Proceeding with fervour, he licked along the back of her exposed shoulder blades before unlacing each strap one by one. When the whole back had been unlaced, he turned her around and waited.

Rose, deciding she had punished him enough, let the blouse fall gracefully off her body, revealing an evergreen silk bra matching her panties.

Scorpius' eyes widened in appreciation and, despite his valiant efforts, his boner had returned in all its glory. He pulled her back to him and this time there was nothing gentle about his fervent kisses He nipped and licked her breasts through her bra, before tiring of it and ripping it off, concentrating on her sensitive nipples. With each nip, she arched into his hand, one of her own dipping into her knickers as she languidly played with herself. Scorpius would not be hurried, however, and he paid just as much attention to her other breast before slipping off her knickers. Within minutes she was nude, save for those sexy leather boots, and backed up against the wall again, while he peppered kisses all over her exposed skin.

When he reached her naval, he dipped his tongue into her belly button, and she rewarded his efforts with a gasp. She tried to pull his head downwards, urging him to alleviate the ache that burned between her thighs.

"Say it, Rose. Tell me what you want," he whispered against her.

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as his tongue darted out to swipe against her clit.

She babbled incoherently, before finding her voice.

"Please, Scorpius, please. I need you to kiss me. I need you to kiss me everywhere," she added, meaningfully.

With that, he dove in, as she let out a startled moan.

Having been with her so many times, he knew what she liked and his lips were quick to form a seal around her clit, suckling it gently, while his index finger probed her slit. Having been stimulated enough from the foreplay, Rose was writhing and gasping against the wall. She was certain that her knees would give out under her, and as if reading her mind, Scorpius cupped her arse and lifted her against the wall so that his face was best place to drink her in. Suspended nearly five feet above the ground, the threat of discovery coupled with the fear of falling was intensifying Rose's experience.

Soon, her wetness was dripping down her thighs and he was able to comfortably slide his tongue up her warm, wet passage. He kissed her again and again, whilst his strong arms kept her upright. As he began tracing his initials on her clit, her breathing sped up so that she was almost panting. By the time he got to the 'm' in Malfoy, his girl was on the precipice. Instead of tracing the 'a', he thrust his tongue as far into her passage as it would go, whilst nibbling harder on her clit.

Rose came explosively all over Scorpius' face, arching her back against the wall, effectively pushing her pussy into his mouth. Her entire body tightened and she screamed loud enough to be heard in Hogsmeade, or so she thought. Scorpius continued to pump his tongue in and out of her gently as she rode out her orgasm and ceased only when she started whimpering. She felt completely and utterly boneless. He allowed her a minute or two to regain her bearings as he distracted himself with suckling her nipples.

Realising that she was not going to order him to put her down any time soon, Scorpius changed the way he was holding her so that she lay bridal-style against him.

"Scorpius, I don't think I can ever let you go. Who else goes down on a woman like that?" she joked weakly, still too chilled to do anything.

In response, he bent to kiss her. Rose tasted herself on his tongue, as was often the case after he would make her come, and stroked his tongue with hers until their fluids were one and the same.

Breaking away from him, she told him to put her down. He let her down gently, grabbing hold of her again when she stumbled. Rose slapped his hands away and righted herself before strutting town the corridor. She knew she had the 'freshly fucked' glow as well as the induced self-confidence, and was planning on making it work for her. Not looking back once, she marched to the potions' master's room, all the while with a sway in her hips.

"Alohomora," she muttered, pointing her wand at the lock. It clicked open with ease.

"Rose, what are you doing?" Scorpius protested as he caught up with her. "This is Blaise's office!" he whispered aggressively.

Rose said nothing, just led him to the desk, where she hopped up and spread her legs wide, leaning back on her elbows, effectively sticking out her breasts; it was a 'come get me' pose.

And Scorpius would be damned if he didn't comply. Quickly locking the door, he threw his wand behind him and pulled down his trousers almost in the same motion. He pounced on the desk, and on her, without a second to lose and reclaimed her lips with his greedy kisses. She'd had her release, but he had been fighting his desire for nearly an hour and he could feel his cock twitch just by being near her.

One of her hands caressed his cheek, and then found itself behind his neck, pulling them closer. Rose's other hand had crept inside Scorpius' boxers and was stroking him gently, so gently it was almost feather-like. Each touch brought him thrusting towards her, until they were virtually dry humping. Rose grinned and hooked her legs over his and turned them around so he was underneath her. She pulled his boxers off and engulfed him, taking his whole cock into her mouth as he let out a strangled scream. She had practiced and could ignore her gag reflex enough to deepthroat him, because she knew he liked it, and it was no small feat.

While Scorpius may not have been that far above average in size, Rose thought he was maybe seven or eight inches long, he was thick and his technique and enthusiasm more than made up for any deficiency in the size department.

Suddenly, Rose removed herself from him, pecked him on the mouth and jumped off the table.

With one withering glance, she announced, " just think about how horrendous blue balls are next time you flirt with your harem of Slytherin bitches in front of me."

A final smirk at his horrified expression later, Rose was half-way to the door before she realised he'd caught her up and spun her around before plunging into her with one rough movement. She screamed, not out of pain but pleasure, but it was enough to worry Scorpius, who looked at her for confirmation.

"Don't stop now, you bastard!" she yelled at him.

He grinned and, pulling out of her briefly, causing her to whimper sadly, dragged her back to the desk where he proceeded to slam into her as hard as she, and the desk could take it. This wasn't a time for gentle love-making, they had non-verbally decided. This was good, hard fucking and it was going to be worth all the antagonising they had put each other through, damn it!

Scorpius, knowing he was close after all the foreplay and false starts, played with Rose's clit with one thumb and bit her nipple as he pumped into her one final time. He came inside her violently with a groan and his release triggered her second orgasm. This one was deeper and longer as she peaked for nearly a minute.

As they lay there, on Blaise Zabini's desk, a tangled mess of sticky limbs, it never once occurred to the pair that while teachers retire after midnight, at Hogwarts, the paintings never sleep.

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><p><strong>I have turned into all that I abhor - a review whore! <strong>

**LEAVE ME REVIEWS, THEY'RE LIKE PIXIEDUST TO MY TINKERBELL!**


	5. Teddy And I Are Meant To Be Together!

**A/N: Hello, guys! I know there will be some people that don't love this chapter, but I'll have you know that I quite liked it. **

**I've been struggling to find time to write this week and I felt the need to introduce more of the next gen kids :P Of course, this means that Draco and Hermione's confrontation has been pushed back another chapter *sad face* According to my (now somewhat scambled) plan, Minerva will sit them down in her office in another two chapters, at the most. I promise this story is till Dramione, I just get distracted :P besides, who doesn't love a wedding? **

**Also, I hate asking, but pleasepleaseplease review!**

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><p>"Rose!" Lily Potter ran into the Gryffindor common room yelling at the top of her lungs.<p>

"Rose Nymphadora Weasley, if you don't come down here right this second, I'm coming up to get you!"

Obviously, she hadn't thought far enough ahead to consider that the common room might be in use. The group of first years playing wizarding chess in the corner looked as though they feared for their lives, and one of the smaller girls even in the direction of her dormitory with her face in her hands.

Determined to rant at her favourite cousin, Lily marched her way to the seventh year girls dorms and pulled the door open violently.

"Oh! I didn't realise you had company..." she trailed off as Scorpius Malfoy lifted his body off Rose's long enough that she could wriggle out from under him.

Smoothing her school-skirt, Rose glanced in the mirror before even acknowledging her cousin's prescence. Awkward silences were Lily's downfall, and Rose knew it.

"Malfoy, I need my cousin!" Lily demanded.

Scorpius looked more amused than abashed at having been interrupted and had to fight the smirk that threatened to spill out of his mouth.

"I'll let you take care of whatever it is Mini Potter wants and we will," he stressed the last word, making Lily blush, "continue this later."

With that, he pecked Rose on the lips, winked at Lily and let himself out of the common room.

Lily, aware that Rose still hadn't spoken, felt the need to apologise.

"You could have warned me," she muttered, blushing.

"How, Lil?" her cousin asked. "You barged in before I could shove him off, remember? We hardly had a warning!" Rose's tone was a little indignant, but Lily knew they were close enough that she couldn't be angry for long.

"Oh, whatever," Lily brushed aside. "This is so much more important than the two of you getting it on, which, by the way, I still think is weird, even if he is hot," she added, as an afterthought.

Rose raised her right eyebrow and waited for Lily to continue. Her cousin's dark eyes were shiny, her face was flushed with a combination of embarrasment and excitement.

Lily paused, to dramatise the moment.

"Teddy and Victoire are getting married!" she announced, simultaneously managing to sound thrilled and forlorn.

"Lily," Rose began, sighing and rolling her eyes, "this couldn't have waited until after Scorpius had left?"

"He'll shag you whenever you want, Rosie," Lily reminded her.

Rose grinned; it was true. After their make-up session the other night at the party, they were back to bickering and fucking in equal measure.

"But Teddy's stomping on my heart without even knowing it. As my cousin and friend, I thought you'd want to be here for me at such a traumatic moment in my young life," now she was definitely sounding more dejected than excited, Rose noted.

"Uh, Lily?"

"Mhmm?"

"Teddy and Vic have been together for years, and they are in their twenties. It's perfectly reasonable for them to be settling down," Rose gently pointed out.

"But you don't understand!" Lily wailed. "He was supposed to wait for me! Teddy and I are meant to be together! Is stealing your cousin's groom bad form?" she asked, hopefully.

Rose fought the urge to roll her eyes again.

"Lily, he's ten years older than you. You and Teddy were never going to get together!"

"I know, I know," her cousin sighed. "But did he really have to be in love with the most beautiful witch this side of the War? More importantly, why the hell do we have to be related to her? We look like bleedin' trolls in comparison," she continued to moan.

Rose tried to be patient with Lily.

Since neither of them had any sisters, they had long since adopted each other. With the sisterly affection, of course, came the less glamorous aspect of sisterhood; the sharing of boy-troubles. Rose had never been one to discuss her love life, not really. Lily, on the other hand, wanted to do nothing more than pick apart every break-up, analyse every pick up line, and, most importantly, wonder why Teddy Lupin only thought of her as a younger sibling.

"Lily," she placated, "just a few years ago you would tell anyone who would listen how much you wanted Ted and Vic to get married! When they first got together and the boys laughed, all youd talk about was how lovely it was that he would finally be a real part of the family."

"Ha!" Lily snorted. "That was before I hit puberty, remember? Teddy's gorgeous and funny and charming and..."

Having already heard lists of Teddy's admirable qualities multiple times, Rose zoned out.

"...he likes animals and muggles and chocolate!" Apparently, Lily had run out of things to say about how wonderful Teddy was.

Rose decided not to remind Lily that the love of her life was a little over ten years older than her and that this was probably a schoolgirl crush.

Instead, she interjected with: "Beauty is subjective. I'm sure there are plenty of men out there who don't thing Victoire's anything special," Rose lied a little – even she didn't believe that any straight, red-blooded man was capable of coherent thought when presented with Victoire Weasley.

"And we do not look like trolls. We're very attractive young witches and we can't help that our cousins are part Veela," she finished, on a more honest note.

"It's alright for you to say! You're shagging Scorpius," Lily exclaimed, sadly. "I'm the one without a boyfriend."

Rose really wanted to tell Lily that the reason she didn't get approached by boys wasn't through any fault of her own; at the start of her fourth year, Lily's brothers, Albus and James, had sat down and threatened every Gryffindor boy in her year with magically imaginative methods of castration if any of them were to touch their 'baby sister'. The boys had spread the word and now Lily Potter was blacklisted, for want of a better word.

"Lily," she began trying to explain.

"Rose?" she was interrupted by their cousin, and Victoire's younger brother, Louis.

"McGonagall's looking for you. And she doesn't sound best pleased," he warned her, before disappearing back to the common room.

"Wonder what she wants with you," Lily mused aloud.

"Well, we can continue this after I've found out. Until then, don't do anything rash, Lily," Rose reminded her.

As Rose made her way towards the Headmaster's Tower, she wondered why McGonnagal wanted to see her. Perhaps she'd changed her mind about Susannah Goldstein as Head Girl. After all, the girl was stupider than a mountain troll. Yes, Rose decided, that must be why the Headmistress wanted to see her. After all, Hermione Granger's daughter never did anything wrong.

Except indulge in mad, passionate, drunken sex with a Slytherin she wasn't actually dating in their potions' master's office, the voice of her conscience reminded her, with a snigger.

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><p>"Scorpius!"<p>

He had just finished listening to The Fat Lady's lectures on pre-marital relations when Scorpius turned around to see his friend Eloise Flint waving him over.

Smiling, he marvelled at how Rose ever thought something was going on between them.

Eloise was pretty, of course; her mother was Karen Silvestedt, the Swedish, Durmstrang educated socialite and five time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Beautiful Witch Of The Year competition.

Her daughter had inherited her mother's heigh and build, as well as her good looks as opposed to her father's, a miracle in Scorpius' opinion.

As Harry Potter had so eloquently put it while he was at school with Scorpius' own father, Flint looked like he had a dash of Troll blood in him.

Still, Eloise's dark hair and darker eyes didn't hold a torch to Rose's hair, which he privately thought of as spun auburn gold, or her grey-green eyes. As far back as he could remember, they had been filled with mirth and mischief, allowing her an air of light-heartedness that so few women ever possessed.

Scorpius had always liked his girls feisty, a rare preference amongst Malfoy men, according to his father, and they didn't come any feistier than Rose Weasley. She excelled at everything she did, be it school or quidditch, and she was wittier than anyone he had ever met. He enjoyed bickering with her, and if he was honest, her sharp wit and even sharper tongue turned him on as he could never stop himself thinking about all the delicious things she could do with that particular muscle.

Dammit, he thought to himself, as he felt his trousers begin to tighten. Just thinking about her got him hard, and of course he had to incriminate himself as his boner further as his thoughts drifted to their bout of make-up sex on Zabini's desk the other night. By now, his erection was definitely straining against his trousers and Scorpius could only be thankful that he was wearing his loose fitting robes. He could only hope no-one noticed until he could privately take care of it.

"Hello? Earth to Scorpius," Eloise spoke slowly, patronising him until his eyes snapped back to her.

"Elle, what can I do for you?" he asked, attempting nonchalance.

She giggled, looking at his crotch pointedly.

"I won't keep you too long, Scorpius, since you obviously have somewhere you need to be," she said, voice laced with innuendo.

He flushed and waited for her to continue.

"McGonagall wants you in her office. She asked Beryl to tell Caitlyn to tell Andrew to tell me to tell you. So here it is. McGonagall's office as soon as you get the message," she recited.

"Oh, and Scorpius?" she added. "I'd take care of your little problem real quick. She didn't look too happy, apparently."

Scorpius sighed. His 'little problem' had virtually disappeared; there was nothing like being summoned to the headmistress' office to take the edge of one's erection, after all. He suppressed a groan, and hurried to McGonagall's office. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could meet Rose in the Room of Requirement.

He wondered why she wanted him, anyway. Was this about the prank war he and Albus had found themselves in with Hugo? Probably, Scorpius reasoned. According to his informants, James was still waking up to find his hair a different colour every morning. While James would have tolerated this under normal circumstances, it seemed as though the boys' spell dyed _all _the hair on James' body, and the ladies weren't taking too kindly to it.

So, in retaliation, Hugo had slipped both the Slytherin boys a diuretic potion the morning before the first match of the season.

He had been in hysterics as he watched one or the other call a time-out every five minutes to escape to the bathroom. Eventually, Madam Hopps announced that no more time-outs could be called and Slytherin would just have to play without a seeker or a chaser for the few minutes that each boy was otherwise occupied.

Unsurprisingly, Al had just sprinted to the changing room when Hugo felt the snitch hover around his ears and Gryffindor had won before Al was done washing his hands.

Scorpius grinned as he remembered how funny Rose had found the whole thing. At one point, she had crossed her legs around her broom but was hanging upside down, curly red hair blowing in the wind as she laughed like a loon, watching him making his ninth trip to the loo in the past half hour.

Yes, he decided. It must be the prank war.

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><p><strong>AN: whaddya think? I thought it was cute :P REVIEW!**

**Would it be terribly cheeky of me to ask for 50 reviews by this time next week? I'm not suggesting for a second that I won't update on time because I haven't received that many, or update sooner if I have, but it would be wonderful if we could hit that maaaaaaagical number.**

**PS: this is nearly at 12,000 words, methinks. That's by far the longest thing I've ever written!**


	6. This Is All Astoria's Fault

**A/N: 'lo, guys! Firstly, fanks ever so much! While we haven't got fifty (at least not while I'm typing this author's note...), your reviews put a smile on this writers face like nothing else. Except maybe Nutella. God, I love Nutella! Anyway, here's chapter six for you. I really liked writing the first half, the second...not so much. Still, I loved the flashback, but I can understand if other people don't quite like it as much as I do. So please let me know what you think either way, reviews are gold remember! Thank you to both hpgeekforlife and harrys_girl_4_life for having a read of it prior to you lovely lot. **

**Oh, and I know how much I go on and on and on about reviews, but thanks to everyone that's reading and favouriting and story alerting and all the rest of it, too :D I even got added to a community! How exciting! I just like reviews the bestest because it makes me feel like I have direct contact with the readers. SO, REVIEW PLEASE!**

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><p>"Password?" demanded the angry gargoyle.<p>

Draco came to attention, the guardian's voice snapping him out of his reverie.

"Misters Paws, Tibbles, Tufty and Snowy," he spoke clearly.

With a grating sound of stone moving against stone, the gargoyle stepped aside and, after a moment of hesitation, Draco stepped into the moving staircase.

The journey to the office took a minute, at most, but, to Draco, it felt like longer. He found himself contemplating that he might be nervous. Internally, he snorted. Malfoys don't get nervous. They aren't intimidated by anyone, especially not elderly witches who can make them relive years of their lives that are better left forgotten. But, then again, he thought, Malfoys don't snort, either. Not even internally, where no-one can hear them.

Inner monologue brought to a close for now, Draco realised that the staircase had slowed to a halt. He climbed up the rest of the way, arriving in a large atrium style office.

"Professor?" he called out, uncertainly, waiting to hear a response or an invitation to enter further into the room.

When only silence met his call, he decided to take a look around, reasoning that since he had never been in the head's office, he may as well investigate.

A cursory glance around the room revealed several small tables full of trinkets and wizarding gadgets, some of which were more familiar to him than others, but central to the organised chaos appeared to be a dark mahogany desk, behind which stood a bookshelf. Taking a closer look, he concluded that here were volumes of every colour, size, age, and probably subject imaginable. The majority of them, he assumed, were ancient tomes; spellbooks, journals of headteachers past, that sort of thing. Upon further examination, he laughed out loud at some of the titles on the wall behind McGonagall's desk.

"_Surrendering to the Italian Sex-Wizard_?_"_ He read aloud. "_The Unwilling Virgin Witch and her Arab Muggle Paramour_?"

Draco couldn't believe it, as he doubled over, belly-laughing. Minerva McGonagall read Mills and Boon novels! He wiped a tear from his eye and wondered how on earth he was going to face her now and keep a straight face. He put the books back on the shelf, still chuckling softly, careful to stick to their original positions.

He returned his attention to the desk, which he noted came complete with an enchanted quill, which was currently busy penning a note to Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic. Apparently, he and 'Minnie', as the letter was signed before being rolled up and levitating itself to the window, where an owl stood waiting, needed to meet urgently for a discussion of the new curriculum. He didn't know whether to be amused or disgusted; was his former Transfiguration teacher having an affair with the minister? He pushed this question to the back of his mind, but not before he decided to look into it at a later date. His exploration of the desk continued, and trying its drawers proved futile, as Draco expected. Compromising their security, or at least attempting to, resulted in an unpleasant burning sensation in his right hand, which diminished as he moved away from the workspace.

His attention flicked back to the wall behind the desk. Above the shelves overflowing with books, hung the sword of Godric Gryffindor. It lay there proudly, reminding him of the sacrifices made and the decisions, right and wrong, witches and wizards had come to during the Second Wizarding War. He lost himself in a memory.

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><p><em>It had been a month since the Battle Of Hogwarts had been won, and today he was back at his old school, not as a former Death Eater or a Malfoy, as just one of hundreds of witches and wizards congregating to remember. Today marked four weeks since Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, had defeated Lord Voldemort after the bloodiest war in wizarding history. Today, he was here to pay his respects and to honour the dead.<em>

_He felt out of place; he had not visited Hogwarts since the Battle. Although the Malfoys had defected and had been pardoned for their war crimes, they were not trusted; this much was obvious by the wary glances and whispers that had followed him since his arrival. _

_He had been careful to avoid the Golden Trio, but, as he stood, tracing over the scores of names carved into an obelisk erected in the courtyard, he found himself face to face with Hermione Granger._

"_You came," she remarked quietly, staring at her feet. _

"_Observant of you, Granger," he replied, but cursed himself for his flippancy as soon as the words had left his mouth._

"_Stop it, Draco," she said, looking up._

_He looked up sharply at her and their eyes met. The contact was awkward; this was the first time in living memory that she had addressed him by his given name._

"_Things will change. Your presence here just proves that," she looked at him before continuing, "thank you for being here."_

_Then, so quickly that had he blinked, he would have sworn that he had missed it, Hermione Granger darted forward on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his cheek. _

_Blushing, she turned to leave, but not before she asked: "Will you stay for the speeches?"_

_Wordlessly, he nodded. As she walked away, Draco rubbed his cheek, wondering why it tingled._

_He made his way towards the stage overlooking the lake, choosing to stand rather than sit with people who had been 'on the right side' and force polite conversation._

_He noticed that the sun was setting and, under twilight's soft glow, everything seemed hidden in shadow. Light and darkness seemed to merge to cast a silhouette upon everyone in attendance. _

_Kingsley Shacklebolt, recently elected Minister for Magic, took to the stage. He introduced Minerva McGonagall, who had taken over as Headmistress of Hogwarts. _

_Draco wasn't really listening to McGonagall. No, he was waiting for her._

_Ron Weasley and Harry Potter held Hermione Granger's hands as they led her to the stage, amongst rapturous applause. _

_She pointed her wand at her throat and cast a 'sonorus' charm on herself. _

"_When I return to Hogwarts this September, instead of just the odd tragedy-struck teenager, the majority of students will be able to see Thestrals. This year, the aftermath of this war, more than anything, represents loss. The loss of life and of innocence, and the loss of a generation of children that were forced to grow up too soon," she paused, pushing her hair behind one ear. _

_He looked at her then, really looked at her. She looked skinnier than the last time he had seen her, Draco thought. And there were bags under her eyes that were visible from a distance. Her hair was in disarray and she looked exhausted. Her voice interrupted his examination of her._

"_Children were forced to choose sides, lest their families suffer for their disobedience," she looked directly at him._

"_Those same children saw and took part in atrocities that stripped them of their childhoods. That affects me more than anything. I can't sleep at night for the nightmares," she admitted._

"_The sacrifices made during the war will not go unnoticed. Today, we gather to honour those who lay down their lives for the safety of their children and grandchildren," her breath caught and Draco saw her eyes fill with tears that threatened to spill down her face at the slightest provocation._

"_Today, I cry for Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Fred Weasley," she hiccoughed, openly crying. "I cry for the Potters, Lily and James, whose love produced the boy who saved us all. I cry for Cedric Diggory and Sirius Black and Dobby the House Elf," this drew some smiles from the audience, but most of them were dabbing at their eyes instead. _

"_But most of all, I cry for the children. Because they were the ones that will suffer from surviving while their parents, siblings, friends did not. They are the ones who must survive the dead," she said, voice breaking. _

"_We have lost so many battles, lost so many friends. But we have won the war."_

_Draco didn't think that he had ever seen anyone look more broken and beautiful than Hermione Granger did in that moment. The girl he had belittled for years was gone, and in her place stood a proud woman, afraid of nothing and no-one. Their gazes met once more as Weasley and Potter led her down from the stage. Even through her tears, through her sadness and loss, she smiled weakly at the bully who had made her schooldays miserable. Draco didn't think that he'd ever admired anyone more than he admired Hermione Granger. It was then that he decided that he would do everything in his power to redeem the Malfoy name; he would prove to the world, and to Hermione Granger, that he could be admirable, too._

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><p>Draco shook his head to clear his thoughts. He was just about to distract himself with investigating some of the gadgets, in particular, a small metal contraption that was vibrating violently enough that other trinkets on the table were moving further and further away from it, and thus closer to the edge of the table, when he thought he heard something.<p>

Inching closer to the gargoyle, he pressed his ear to the cold stone, mentally cursing himself for not having a pair of the Weasley twins' Extendable Ears.

At first the sound was muffled, until an idea struck him. He concentrated and, quietly, pulled his want out from his trouser pocket. Thinking carefully, he cast a modified 'sonorus' and 'muffliato' spell simultaneously. It was genius, really; the stranger's voice appeared louder to Draco, but by casting the counter-curse, they had no idea he could hear them.

"Oh, get a grip, Hermione!" the voice chastised herself and Draco realised, with a jolt, that this was the first time he would see her since the Memorial Service over twenty five years ago.

"You've been back to Hogwarts plenty of times over the years," it continued, with forced conviction. "Why should the headmaster's, headmistress'," she corrected herself, before continuing, "office be any different?"

He knew it was a rhetorical question, but Draco desperately wanted to answer it for her.

"Dumbledore has been dead for years. There's no reason you can't walk into that room with your head held high and speak to Minerva like the sensible adult you are!" To Draco, she sounded endearingly bonkers, talking to herself like that.

"Mr Malfoy?" he heard an aged male voice behind him.

Draco's head darted up, effectively snapping his concentration and dissolving his spells, and his mouth fell open as he found himself starting at Albus Dumbledore's portrait.

"Professor?" he asked in turn, still a little shocked at seeing a sentient Dumbledore speaking to him.

"I don't think Mrs Weasley would appreciate your eavesdropping," he reprimanded gently, eyes twinkling.

"Professor Dumbledore?" It appeared as though Draco was beginning to sound like a broken Celestina Warbeck record.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy. You have seen portraits of deceased witches and wizards before, haven't you?" Dumbledore chuckled at his former students' look of disbelief.

"Of course, Professor. Wait," Draco paused, "Mrs Weasley?"

"I'm told she married your classmate, Ronald, in a very tasteful ceremony in the summer of two thousand and one," Dumbledore explained. "They have two children, Rose Sofia and Hugo Francis. I believe Rose is acquainted with your son, Scorpius."

"Oh." Draco didn't know what more to say. Besides, his brain was working a mile a minute. McGonagall had summoned him here to speak to him about Scorpius being caught in a 'compromising position'. Having been caught in plenty himself, he felt confident inferring that Scorpius had been discovered with a girl. It was too much of a coincidence that Hermione Granger, whose daughter was in Scorpius' year and, apparently, a friend of his, was pacing outside McGonagall's office.

"Merlin's beard, Scorpius! Stupid horny git," he swore under his breath.

"Draco?"

"Yes, Professor?" he fidgeted, feeling slightly abashed that his former headmaster had heard him cursing his son's existence. Still, he thought, the little prat deserved it! Of all the girls in Hogwarts, the idiot had to have a go at Granger's daughter. Draco rolled his eyes; the irony was just too great.

"I forgive you. And, I expect, so does Mrs Weasley," Dumbledore watched Draco for any sense that his exoneration had impacted the man stood in front of him.

Draco let out a breath that he had not realised he had been holding.

"Thank you, Professor," he muttered.

"Anytime, my boy!" Dumbledore smiled at him. "Now, I must be off. The Fat Lady has managed to convince the Ticklish Pear into stealing some mulled mead from the kitchens," the former headmaster chuckled as he exited his portrait.

Left alone again, Draco made his way to a window and opening it, called "Hercules!" It was a stab in the dark, but he hoped the owl would come when called.

He had just turned to grab a quill and some scrap parchment when a quiet 'hooting' at the window alerted him to the owl's presence.

Leaning on McGonagall's desk, he scrawled 'You are dead!' quickly and tied the parchment to the owl's foot.

"Take this to Scorpius Malfoy, wherever he may be, immediately," with a final pat on the head, the owl spread his wings and took off towards the Owlery, Draco assumed.

Suddenly, he heard the gargoyle jerk to life and the sound of stone against stone alerted him to the moving staircase.

Leaning against the desk in the centre of the room, he ran a hand through his hair and found his lips quirking upwards slightly in the infamous Malfoy smirk.

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><p>Hermione was rummaging around in her bag, looking for her wand. In her distracted state, she missed the top step and, with a small cry, tripped. She braced herself for the hard contact with the floor that never came.<p>

Instead, strong arms had broken her fall.

Disoriented, she looked up.

Smirking back at her was none other than Draco Malfoy.

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><p><strong>AN: I hate begging. *gets down on knees* #pleaseleavearevieworimightcry**

**One final thing, and this is really important. Have y'all heard of Kony 2012? If you haven't, please youtube it right now. It's an awareness campaign regarding one of the most infamous war lords in the world and I've just written the Prime Minister a letter (yup, I'm that girl!) and I urge you all to watch it and share it with your friends/family/MPs/Senators/Governers/Presidents/Ministers whatever. Tell the world about Kony and 2012 will be the year he is captured. **


	7. I Don't Think Tea Can Fix This

**A/N: Hello, dear readers! First of all, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. Despite being the chapter with the least hits, this is the most reviewed chatper thus far - 20 dedicated, wonderful human beings have written back and commented on the story. *jumps for joy* Now, if I could have twenty reviews per chapter for the duration of this tale, I think I might pee myself with excitement. Not the most attractive image, but y'all get where I'm going with this, don't you? Hermione and Draco are finally meeting, face to face, after all these years. I know some of you won't like the way I've done it, but I'm rather happy with how it turned out. Feel free to leave me con-crit/love/tell me about your fucking day, I don't care - just leave a review. Pretty pleaaaaaaaase.**

**Also, in an act of shameless self-promotion, go check out my other story? I promised myself that I would write one at a time, but I just had to write down the Lily/James plot bunny that was coming alive in my head. I really enjoyed writing it, but the response to it has been quite miserable :'( while writers tell stories because they love to do so, encouragement from readers makes the process far more enjoyable and I don't feel like people are seeing that story. Then again, it's only been 12 hours that it's been online, so maybe I'm just overreacting. In any case, please read and review The Land Of Blood And Honey? 3**

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><p>When Hermione first started Hogwarts in the autumn of 1991, she expected to meet a range of different people. There would be the popular children, who came from pureblood 'legacy' families; the bimbos, whose sole purpose was to graduate with an attractive boyfriend or girlfriend on their arm; the studious and hardworking, who would always be a minority; the muggleborns, who suffered at the hands of racists; then there would be the bullies, the racists themselves.<p>

Hermione had already done enough reading, aged eleven, to be able to ascertain that most of these cruel students were to be found in Slytherin. They were often the offspring of witches and wizards with dubious family connections, sometimes associated with the dark arts, almost always believers in pureblood supremacy. As a result, they would look down on her from the inset. She would always be disadvantaged, an easy target for these boys and girls with superiority complexes and daddy issues.

Draco Malfoy had personified all those characteristics and more. He was arrogant, selfish, cruel. Hermione thought she could list his less than positive attributes until the owls came home. He had made it his mission to terrorise her. Of course, he had picked on Harry and Ron, as well, but she couldn't help but feel that he saved some of his most sadistic treats just for her. Over the years, he had called her every name under the sun, and she had retaliated with more than a few insults of her own. A fact she had hated to admit, however, was that he was the only boy at school who could match her sparring word for word, insult for insult and slur for slur, and she liked it. With the tiniest quirk of her lips, she remembered the time in third year when she punched him in the face. The look on his face had been more than worth his attempts at retaliation over the years.

Hermione prided herself on her maturity and logical nature. With a mental snort, she realised that mature, logical women would not be draped over their childhood enemy. Yet, she couldn't pull herself from him. He exuded an almost magnetic charm and she found herself drawn to him. She supposed that this was because she was, first and foremost a woman. And currently, she was a woman in the arms of a very attractive man. It just so happened that her sex-deprived mind and irritable hormones were not discriminating between 'hot man' and 'Draco Malfoy'.

Having found herself in such close proximity to him, she noticed how much he had filled out over the years. She forced her mind back over two decades, remembering the last time she saw him. While the war had changed him, he had still been a slight youth, more boy than man. Now, as he cradled her gently, without any visible sign of strain, she appreciated the physical differences. He was _all_ man, now. The thought brought a furious blush to her cheeks as her thoughts drifted to his manly attributes.

"Having salacious thoughts, Granger?" Malfoy leaned in close and whispered in her ear.

He had not intended to speak, lest he break the silence that was settling around them like the year's first snowfall; simultaneously familiar and strange. The metaphor was not lost on him. Still, he could not help himself as he leant in and inhaled slightly. Her skin was warm and he delighted in the fact that his whispered innuendo brought her throat out in a flash of goosebumps.

Draco had expected fireworks when his former classmate entered the room. He had not expected to catch her before she had taken more than three steps inside, nor had he pre-empted this unusual silence. Being completely honest, he did not think that Hermione was capable of being quiet for such a period.

He did notice, however, that she had certainly changed in the years since he had seen her. Her hair had finally calmed down from its infamous bushy, nest-like texture, to a seemingly softer chocolate wave. Having children definitely suited her, his inner voice remarked, and she had embraced the curves that came with it. She was glowing and wore her clothes very well; a very well tailored black skirt suit over a peach blouse. The colour complemented her skin, which still held the barest hint of a tan from the summer months. All in all, she looked healthy and happy. And beautiful, his pesky inner voice reminded him.

He shook his head and the moment was broken. Hermione pushed slightly at his chest and stepped back, staring anywhere but his eyes.

"Hardly," she scoffed, surprised that she could find her voice at all. "I was surprised, is all. I suppose I should thank you for catching me," she posed the statement as a question, looking intently at her pumps.

"Your gratitude overwhelms me, dear," he retaliated sharply.

Hermione let herself look him over, quickly. He was a little taller than she remembered, a touch over six feet, she thought. He personified confidence, as he slouched against the wall, in his charcoal grey suit and midnight blue shirt. No tie, she noticed, and the top three buttons of his shirt were undone, allowing her a peek at his pale chest. She smiled proudly as it struck her that they probably bought their clothes from the same tailor. She had worked hard for her money while he had his handed to him on a platter, and that felt damn good.

"Like what you see, Granger?" He asked her, interrupting her thoughts and clearly misinterpreting her good humour.

She rolled her eyes.

"The only thing I do see is that you're as smarmy a git as you were when we were children," she shot back.

"And you're still the feisty little girl you were back in third year," he noticed, with a smile.

The presence of that slight smirk irritated Hermione to no end. She crossed her arms defensively and glared at him.

Minutes passed and nothing was spoken. The silence was starting to become awkward, and Hermione sighed, deciding to be the bigger person.

"Any idea why we're here? Or where the hell McGonagall is?" Draco glanced at her, picking up on her agitation.

"Ooh, it swears!" he mocked her.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy. You would, too, if you'd leaved with Ronald Bilius Weasley for a dozen years too many," she spat.

Hermione's eyes widened, as she realised that she'd said the last part of the sentence out loud. She knew she'd given him ammunition, but she didn't care.

"Trouble in paradise, sweetheart?" He asked.

"Stop calling me that. I don't care for your inane pet names, Malfoy," she spat.

He had obviously hit a nerve. Instead of shutting the hell up and giving the woman some space, Draco tried again.

"What, has married life with Ronniekins not been everything it was cracked up to be?" He goaded her.

"Malfoy, I'm warning you. Shut the fuck up, before I do something I'll regret when you wake up in Mungo's," Hermione found herself getting angrier, and to her utter embarrassment, found her eyes starting to fill with furious tears.

His breath caught in his throat. He stared at her lips, willing her to swear again; the foul language had gone straight to his cock. He stood up straighter and attempted to discretely readjust himself.

Unable to quit while he was ahead, he pursued the matter, praying that she would launch into a foul mouthed tirade against her husband – that shit would last his wank bank the month, he thought with a smirk.

"Come on, Granger. He can't be that bad in the sack. After all, once he's got his dick in you, I imagine you do most of the work anyway? You strike me as a girl who likes to be on top," he had the audacity to wink at her.

Although he deserved it, he didn't see the slap coming. When her palm did connect with his cheek, he was stunned.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," she mumbled, wiping her face furiously.

Her make-up was smearing, dark trails ran down her cheeks.

And then it came out, like word vomit.

"Or is it not his performance you're worried about? Did Weasley finally grow a pair and find himself a sweet little pussy on the side?"

Hermione's face fell. She opened her mouth and closed it without a sound.

Stepping away from him, she picked up her bag and turned on her heel, almost running down the stone steps towards the gargoyle.

"Granger!" Malfoy called after her, kicking himself for being such an idiot.

He heard her yell out the password and made to follow when a curse hit him.

He found himself being yanked upwards, upside down, by an invisible pulley.

"Dammit," he swore.

_Levicorpus_ had been a popular hex in the seventies, and, while he knew the counter-curse, it would be difficult to perform without his wand, which had tumbled out of his pocket the moment he'd been turned on his head.

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><p>Meanwhile, Hermione was running through the halls, searching frantically for Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.<p>

The tears came hard and fast as she realised what a fool she'd made of herself in front of Malfoy. She'd allowed his baiting to hit home and acted like a sensitive girl because of it, not like the woman she had been trying so desperately to be.

Finally, locating the bathroom, she shoved open the door, praying that Myrtle was harassing a prefect or otherwise occupied.

Luckily, the loo's resident ghost was MIA.

Hermione washed up and looked at herself in the mirror. The divorce was taking its toll on her, she realised. She tended to bottle her feelings up and then explode. Sod's law, she thought angrily; of course, Malfoy would be around when she blew her top.

Taking deep breaths, she stepped out of the bathroom and made her way back to McGonagall's office.

"Stupid, smarmy son of a bitch," she muttered under her breath.

"Who's a stupid, smarmy son of a bitch?" A male voice asked behind her.

She turned with a start, finding none other than her good friend Neville Longbottom jogging to catch up with her.

"Neville!" she squealed, uncharacteristically.

"Hermione!" Neville imitated her, smiling.

He pulled her into his arms for a hug. Her feet left the floor briefly as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled happily; Neville was good, he was safe.

He gently let her back on the ground and took a good look at her.

"Have you been feeding yourself properly?" He asked her, concerned.

"I've been trying," she replied.

Apparently she wasn't half as good at hiding the sadness in her voice, as he immediately picked up on it.

"What's wrong, love? You don't look at all well," he looked at her pointedly.

Hermione sighed, wringing her hands.

Before she could say anything, Neville spoke again.

"Is everything okay with you and Ron?"

Tears sprang back to her eyes before she could stop them.

"Hermione, love?" Neville put his arm around her and drew her close to his chest.

"We're getting a divorce," she mumbled through her sadness.

Neville's eyes softened as he took in his friend. She had always been such a pillar of strength, and he was going to be damned if he left her like this.

"Come on, love," he told her, taking her hand and leading her back in the direction she'd come from.

"Wh-where are you taking me?" She asked, hiccupping.

"My office. I've got tea and biscuits and a wonderful log fire. I expect you could use a cuppa and a shoulder to cry on," he said with a smile.

She wiped her face and smiled back at him, "I don't think tea can fix this, Neville, but I'm at the end of my tether," she hiccupped. "But what about my meeting with McGonagall?" She asked, panic colouring her voice.

"I'll talk to her for you. We can reschedule. Right now, you just need time for yourself," with that, Hermione let one of her oldest friends lead her to safety.

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><p>Back in McGonagall's office, Draco had finally managed to reverse Hermione's hex and was now standing upright, contemplating his options.<p>

The Headmistress still hadn't arrived, and Draco was not sure if he wanted her to anymore; what would he tell her when she asked after Hermione?

"I provoked her and made her cry. She ran away from me and I don't think she's going to want to be in the same room as me for a while..." didn't seem to cut it.

He sighed, annoyed with himself.

His attempts at proving himself mature and respectable had backfired beautifully.

He'd be surprised if Hermione ever spoke to him again.

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><p><strong>AN: Read and review, my lovlies! And remember, check out The Land Of Blood And Honey. Until next time 3**


	8. You Don't Remember Toni!

**A/N: Hi, guys! I have had the most horrible week and this story has just about kept me from a nervous breakdown! School isn't fun atm (my university place is in danger!) and it's been difficult, to say the least. On the plus side, I got an email back about an AMAZING job opp today, writing a blog for students across England. That's pretty fucking insane! Because I was so excited about it, my beta hasn't even had a chance to see this chapter yet, so please bear with mistakes. I really liked writing this chapter and was grinning by the time I got to the end and I hope y'all like it as much as I did! PS, 19 reviews on the last chapter! 20 again, please?**

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><p>"Here, let me move this out of the way so you can sit down,"Neville gestured to a pile of ancient looking books currently occupying an armchair.<p>

Hermione nodded her thanks and sat daintily, crossing her legs, as she took in her surroundings.

When Neville first accepted the post of Head of Gryffindor House, his small, damp greenhouse had been upgraded to a cavernous room in Gryffindor Tower.

While he busied himself with making tea, Hermione smiled as she appreciated the furnishings; plush velvet curtains, in house colours, hung over the windows, matching soft cushions dotted around the various chairs in the space. The obvious feminine touch was juxtaposed by the exotic specimens that covered every visible surface; in fact, Hermione was sure she could hear her friend talking to one of the larger tree-like plants. Peering closer, she thought it looked familiar, likening its external appearance to that of a cactus, but she couldn't place where she had seen it before.

Neville turned with their cups and noticed her staring at him as he whispered soothing words to his aging _Mimbulus Mimbletonia._

"You remember Toni, don't you, Hermione?" he looked at her expectantly, passing her a cup of what smelled like camomile tea.

"It...I mean, she," Hermione corrected herself, as Neville's face fell when she referred to the plant as inanimate, humouring her friend, "Looks familiar. Have I seen her before?"

"Have you seen her before?" Neville repeated , obviously surprised. "'Course you have! I've had her since fifth year. Great Uncle Algie got her for me, 'member? From Assyria?"

The excitable prompts had jogged Hermione's memory and she slowly began recollecting the train ride to Hogwarts at the start of fifth year.

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><p><em>Neville had come barrelling into the compartment where she sat with Harry, Ron and Luna Lovegood. <em>

"_Guys!" He exclaimed, unceremoniously getting everyone's attention. "Look what I've got!" _

_He proceeded to pass round a handful of photos of what looked like him posing with a cactus._

_Hermione glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye and found him looking just as confused as she was. Luna, on the other hand, took the situation in her stride and 'oohed'and 'aahed' appropriately. Ron just looked slightly constipated._

"_Uh, Neville, mate?"Ron began tentatively, "What exactly is it we're looking at?"_

_The other boy immediately launched into an in-depth explanation of the origins and uses of _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_ . _

_Ron groaned quietly, mentally cursing himself for asking the question, but stopped and sat up as Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs. _

"_Come on, Ron," she pulled at his sleeve, "We've got to go meet the other prefects in the Head's carriage. Or have you forgotten your duties already?" She added, with a raised eyebrow, daring him to challenge her. _

_Ron, desperate to escape the impromptu Herbology class, jumped at the chance. _

_As they exited the compartment, Hermione was sure that she could hear Luna asking Neville if he knew that _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_ were a common breeding ground for Nargles. She sighed and supressed a smile; her friends were certainly odd, but she wouldn't trade them for the world._

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><p>"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione smoothly covered her mishap, "How could I have forgotten?" She asked, rhetorically. "How is she? She must be getting on a bit," she observed.<p>

From the look of the plant, whose once dark green trunk seemed more like a dull grey husk, it didn't age well.

"Yeah," Neville agreed, with a small tilt of his head. "They're normal life span is between ten to fifteen years, but I put a charm on her to extend our time together," he looked at his plant mournfully.

"I'm sure you've given her a great life, Neville," Hermione told her friend, finding the situation taking an extremely strange turn, but still trying to be polite.

"I've tried. Anyway," he dismissed, "I didn't run into you, literally, dear, hurtling down the corridors just so we could make small talk over the condition of my many pets," he sent a small smile her way, encouraging her to open up to him.

She just smiled sadly back at him.

"Is the camomile tea okay?" He asked her.

She nodded.

"Then talk to me, Hermione. I swear by Merlin's wand that nothing said here today will leave the room. I won't even tell Hannah," he added as an afterthought.

"How is Hannah?" she tried, and failed to change the subject.

He just looked at her, willing her to talk to him.

She sighed heavily and scratched her knee as she contemplated where to begin.

"Uhm…" she tried.

"Go on," he told her.

"Well, I suppose the most rational place to start would be at the beginning," she mused aloud, while Neville smiled at his friend's ability to remain logical, even in the most pressuring of situations. Although, he thought to himself, when one has taken on and fought He Who Must Not Be Named, a little life trouble can't be too taxing.

"Promise you won't say anything to anyone?" She asked again, needing reassurance.

This time, it was his turn to nod.

"RonandIaregettingadivorce!" She forced out as she exhaled.

Unfortunately, she choked on a sob on the way out.

Neville, although he had strained his ears considerably trying to make out her message in the midst of such garbled language, had no idea what she said.

He rubbed small circles into the small of her back and when she had quieted down a little, he asked her to repeat herself.

"Ronald and I are getting a divorce. He had an affair and, although that was a catalyst, I realised we're just not in love anymore," she said, in a small voice. "We were talking about dividing assets a few days ago."

"Dividing assets?" Neville yelled. "Every single knut you've earned from your patents is yours, Hermione. Ron's rested on his laurels for thirty odd years, reliving his glory days while you've been changing the world!" He was outraged on her behalf.

"Be that as it may, his lawyers will argue that he 'supported'," she made air quotes around the word, "me while I was earning and so he's entitled to half."

"That's bullshit!" He rarely swore and seemed to be as surprised as Hermione that the curse had slipped out.

"That's not the only thing," she sighed, "Not only do I not have a clue how I'm going to tell the kids, I think I need a new job. I don't know when it happened, but I woke up one morning and I didn't love my work anymore," her voice broke.

"Oh, Hermione!" Neville exclaimed, reaching around to hug her with one arm. He knew how important her work as a healer was to her.

"I don't know why it is, Neville, but I feel like I'm apathetic when I go to work and I'm upset when I get home. Day in, day out, I feel the same way. And I'm exhausted of having to pretend everything's fine!" She forced it out, almost choking. "Everything is most definitely not fine," Hermione was openly crying.

With a wave of his wand and an incantation she couldn't hear above her sobs, Neville transfigured her armchair into a sofa big enough for the both of them. Seating himself next to her, he pulled her to him and let her cry it out against his shoulder.

For her part, Hermione wanted desperately to compose herself but had no hope against the hiccups that wracked her body. She was surprised at the intensity of her reaction, and so was Neville.

"Hermione, love? I've known you for the better part of thirty years and you've never once cried like this. Something tells me this isn't the only thing bothering you," he offered her a way to fill in the gaps.

"Oh, Neville!" she flung her arms around his neck and sobbed into his neck. Mentally, she was lucid enough to kick herself for being so emotional, but she couldn't help herself.

"It's M-Malfoy," she bawled.

Neville's eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Malfoy? When did you see him?"

"J-j-just now," Hermione sat up and patted his arm in thanks. She wiped the remaining tears away and took a deep, shaky breath. "He was supposed to meet McGonagall at the same time as me. I've not a clue why, to be honest. But, Neville, I couldn't stand seeing him," she whispered, eyes gazing into the distance, obviously reminiscing.

"Why, what'd he do? I mean, you haven't seen him for years, have you?"

"Not since the Memorial Service, no," she confirmed.

"So why is he acting as the trigger?" He asked.

Hermione smiled briefly, before complimenting her friend. "You were always smarter than they gave you credit for, Longbottom," she said, in a poor imitation of McGonagall's voice.

Neville snorted, giving her the reaction she wanted. He also gave her a look; she knew he would push for the answer.

"I don't know. No," she corrected herself, "I do know, I think. I don't hold him responsible for the war, not exactly. He was bullied and coerced into committing atrocities well beyond anything a sixteen year old should have to deal with. He was, for the large part, unwilling and acted in his family's interest, and after sending mum and dad to Australia, I can empathise with that. I suppose I see him as a representation of everything we lost, everything everyone lost; the lives of our friends and family, our innocence, our childhoods. When I saw him, I relived Fred's death, Snape's, Dumbledore's," Hermione was crying again, and this time the tears came hot and fast, but silent. "I remembered what it felt like, being paralysed, suspended ten feet in the air by Bellatrix as she tortured me to within an inch of my life," she whispered, flinching at the memory. "It was just so overwhelming," she finished quietly.

Neville's heart broke for one of his oldest and dearest friends. Hermione was so strong and to have a breakdown of this scale was unheard of for her.

After a moment of silence, he spoke: "You know what you need to do, pet?" He told her, "You need to go home and have a cuppa. Why don't you call Ginny and make it a girl's night or something? You could use a night off from being you," he suggested.

"What a wonderful idea! Perhaps I'll look in with Luna, as well. Do you think Hannah would want to join us? It seems as though, with all the drama surrounding Ron and Susan, I haven't seen any of my friends at all," she thought aloud.

"She can't, she's taking Bella to her cellist concert," he replied, as Hermione smiled – Neville's youngest, Bella, was showing all the signs of a child prodigy. She could play half a dozen instruments excellently and spoke three languages, having taught herself French after hearing Dom, Louis and Victoire speaking it over the years, and Spanish from muggle television shows! She read voraciously, both muggle and wizard literature, at a rate which rivalled Hermione's at her age. All of this in addition to exercising immense control over her magic. Neville and Hannah were proud, of course, but baffled as to where the affinity had come from.

Hang on a second. Susan?" Neville asked her, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, dammit!" Hermione smacked her forehead with her hand. She quickly explained about Ron and his affair.

When she finished, Neville's mouth had dropped open and he was shaking his head sadly.

"Shut your mouth or you'll catch flies!" Hermione teased him, in an effort to lighten the mood.

"That man's an idiot," he muttered. "And they all thought I was the stupid one!"

Hermione hid a laugh as she disputed the statement.

Standing up, she threw her arms around him once again. He hadn't been prepared for it and he staggered backwards a little.

"Woah, easy there, Hermione," he warned her.

"Thank you for listening to me moan and whinge and whatnot, Neville," she murmured, her voice muffled by his thick, wooly cardigan.

He patted her back awkwardly and informed her that that was what friends were for, of course.

As he led her to his fireplace, which was one of the only ones in the building connected to the floo network, he remembered to ask her if she would be coming to their annual New Year's ball.

"I don't know, Neville," Hermione answered honestly. "It depends, I suppose, on where we are with the divorce and all that," she sighed dejectedly; she and the children always looked forward to Neville and Hannah's parties.

"Nonsense, Hermione," he refuted. "You're coming, with Hugo and Rosie, even if we have to un-invite Ron, and that's that," he stated adamantly.

"You're a good man, Neville," she told him softly, pulling him in for a last quick hug and a peck on the cheek before she grabbed a handful of floo powder.

Just as she was about to throw it in the fire, she turned and asked him, "I don't suppose you know what Hugo's done this time, do you? Given that Malfoy was hanging around, I assume a prank on Scorpius went awry?"

Neville's face immediately turned a horrific shade of puce. He started stammering, avoiding an answer.

"Neville!" Hermione barked at him.

"Uh, it wasn't Hugo," he muttered.

"What? What the hell did Rosie do?"

"Uh..."

"Has she been correcting the professors again? Because I told her she wasn't to do that anymore!"

"Not quite..."

"Spit it out, Neville!"

"SHE HAD SEX WITH SCORPIUS MALFOY ON BLAISE ZABINI'S DESK!" Neville yelled, immediately hiding behind his hands.

A deathly silence descended amongst them, before Hermione doubled over with laughter.

"Rosie? Sex? Malfoy? Oh, Neville, that was brilliant! But seriously, what did she do?" Wiping the tears from her eyes, she asked again.

When Neville had nothing more to say, Hermione's blood started boiling.

"I AM GOING TO KILL HER!"

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><p><strong>AN: cheer me up/make my week with your wonderful reviews and love?**

**PS, with this chapter, I should reach 20,000 words and 100 reviews! MILESTONE MOMENT.**


	9. There're Bad Parents, Then There's Draco

**A/N: WOOOOOO! 120 reviews, at last count. I love you guys *tears up***

**This week has been weird. I've been insanely busy with school and have written this chapter in a couple of hours of free time today. I'm so sorry that I haven't been able to reply to reviews - I'm at least three chapters behind by now! I think any author who wants reviews ought to be prepared to respond to readers and I hate that I've been so busy that I haven't been able to. I'm on holiday over the next couple of weeks, tho, so I swear I'll get to it! There were lots of milestones, too. I hit my first hundred reviews, twenty thousand words and the hits on the story have exceeded the word count (no-one else is half as excited about that as I am). Oh, and I finally grew a pair and showed this to one of my RL friends. He's a really good friend but I had lots of inhibitions about showing him this - RL Pammy isn't known for her wicked lemon skills, let's put it that way. Anyway, he was crazy supportive and beta'd this chapter for me. Thank you, Zazeems. **

**Music recommendations for this chapter (I don't do these often, but it's worth it for this one) Foundations by Kate Nash and Carrie Underwood's entire arsenal.**

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><p>As she flitted around the kitchen, adding a pinch of this and a dash of that to the mixture in front of her, Hermione was also stewing, wanting to confront her daughter but unsure as to how best to do so.<p>

Rose had already been punished, Minerva had seen to that, confirming Neville's outburst in a lengthy message covering three feet of parchment. But there was no way in hell Hermione was letting this slide. They were going to talk, as soon as she figured out what to say.

She sighed heavily and buried her face in her hands. After lightly banging her head on the counter a few times – for clarity, she told herself, not because she was losing it – Hermione finished the meal she had been preparing and, glancing at the clock, reasoned that Ginny would arrive soon; she could help her make some headway.

Dinner with Ginny had been punctuated with elf made wine. Lots of wine, and over it, conversation flowed. Hermione, giggling from the over-indulgence, told Ginny about Rose's less than subtle indiscretions, only to find her friend egging her daughter on.

"Hermione, are you really going to reprimand her for taking that beautiful boy to her bed?" Ginny goaded her, suggestively wiggling her eyebrows.

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes, having forgotten how poorly her friend held her drink.

"No, Gin. I'm going to reprimand her for taking him on their potions' master's desk! The same potions' master, might I remind you, that we went to school with and over whom you spent most of third year salivating..." Hermione trailed off, with a slight smirk in her voice.

"Not fair!" Ginny giggled, having lost all sense of sobriety. "Zabini was hot. Tall, dark and handsome. And did you see those hands! Can you blame me for wondering what he could do with just his fingers?"

Hermione laughed at her inebriated friend and flooed her home, but not before Ginny had coerced her into a night on the town later that week.

She knew that it was only a matter of time before Ginny told Harry. And then it would be minutes before Ron found out. She snickered as she imagined the look on his face when Harry told him that his daughter was doing a Malfoy. He would flush crimson to the tops of his ears, radiating heat, with his anger. Then he would remind every human being, wizard or muggle, within a mile's radius that his baby girl was far too young to be having sex and 'that Malfoy scumbag' probably forced her into it. She couldn't decide if she wanted to be there or not when he did find out, but eventually settled for not; Ron would most likely blame Rose's actions on her. And then she'd probably slap him and be done with it. No, she reasoned, that was a scenario that she would be best avoiding.

Ginny had reminded her of a Hogsmeade weekend coming up. Hermione supposed she could meet Rose then. She would try to be calm, just reminding her of a couple of simple contraceptive spells and recommending some potions, before leaving. Her conscience whispered that now might be the perfect time to tell her children about the divorce, too. She sighed sadly. It had to happen eventually.

Lying in bed later that night, Hermione shed one final tear for her ruined marriage.

She had been a girl in love. He had been her best friend and she wondered when they had lost the right to call each other that. They had married young, right after he had finished Auror training and she had finished her NEWTs. Rose had been conceived the first night they made awkward, fumbling love in an impersonal hotel room, surrounded by illusions of grandeur. It hadn't been special, though she knew he loved her. He'd tried to be gentle, but when he had fallen asleep, she cried. Nine months later, Rose had been born and Hermione had never seen anything more beautiful than that little girl. The look on Ron's face when he first held her, a combination of panic, joy and pure, unadulterated love, came close. She had never been happier. Years later, the arrival of a little boy had turned their world upside down. Hugo had not been planned, but he wasn't loved any less because of it. Ron was thrilled to have someone with which to avoid his wife and daughter. Too much oestrogen, he told them, for one man. Theirs hadn't been a perfect home, but they tried valiantly to smear glue over the cracks, lest an onlooker notice the imperfections. One day, those cracks were too wide and no amount of glue could ever seal them shut.

As her tears dried in trails of salty nostalgia on her cheeks, Hermione sent a prayer to whoever was listening.

"Please," she whispered, "let my babies understand."

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><p>Draco paced in the drawing room, waiting for the tell-tale knock, a sign that his son had arrived home. He had bargained for a day off on Scorpius' behalf, and had sent nothing by way of correspondence to him after that impassionedly scrawled death threat.<p>

He smirked to himself. Sadistic, it might be, but he did get a certain kick out of making his son squirm a little.

"Master Draco?" one the house-elves squeaked at him.

Glancing at her, at least, he assumed it was a 'her' by the caustic yellow tutu wrapped around its waist; he acknowledged it with a nod.

"Master Scorpius has arrived," she told him.

"Take him to my study in ten minutes' time. I will be waiting," he barked.

The house-elf nodded quickly and, with a crack, disapparated.

He ran a hand through his hair, which had already been in less than artistic disarray, and made his way to his office.

His son was waiting for him. Neither of them spoke, Scorpius obviously waiting for him to make a move.

Draco turned towards his drinks cabinet and poured himself a large whisky from a crystal decanter.

"Drink?" He asked his son, without so much as looking at him.

"No, thank you," Scorpius returned, quietly.

Draco sipped at his drink, appreciating its smoothness and slow burn.

He turned to his son and was immediately struck by their similarities. Scorpius looked almost identical to his seventeen year old self. Unlike Draco, his son had never slicked his hair back, instead allowing it to fall into his eyes carelessly. Now that Draco's hair was longer, it seemed to be dangerously close to doing the same thing. He vowed to get it cut, and soon. He would not be one of those sad middle-aged bastards who lived vicariously through their sons. Over the years, his son's eyes had darkened from the silver he'd been born with to a charcoal grey much darker than his own. For once, Draco regretted that they stood the same height, six one. He couldn't tower over him like he wanted to.

Scorpius, in a move which gained him much respect from his father, was not fidgeting or manifesting any other signs of discomfort. He stared straight ahead, waiting for Draco to begin.

"Son?" Draco began, noticing Scorpius' eyes level with his own. He held his son's gaze and continued, "Next time, don't do it where you'll get caught. Oh, and you're using a contraceptive spell, aren't you? There's no way in hell I'm ready to become a grandfather to a Weasley child."

With one final gulp of whisky, he snickered at his son's stunned expression.

"What?" He reasoned. "You didn't think I'd yell, did you?"

"Uhm..." Scorpius seemed to be at a loss for words.

"She's a pretty little thing, despite her weasel of a father. And, anyway, who do you think was the original Slytherin Sex God? It's only fitting that my son should pick up where I left off," Draco smirked at the younger boy.

"You're a god-awful parent," Scorpius told him, breaking into a smirk of his own, rolling his eyes. "Why the hell couldn't you have told me this in a letter? Or flooed or something?" He asked him.

"Mehh, what can I say? I've got a flare for the dramatic," Draco grinned. "Now come on, we're late for dinner," he clapped his son's back and led him through into the dining room.

As they sat across the table from each other, Draco smiled to himself. His son certainly kept him on his toes.

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><p>The next day, Hermione found herself waiting for her daughter in a private room in the Three Broomsticks.<p>

She was nervous, unsure of how to start. Should she open with news of the divorce? Or with a reminder of 'the talk'?

She didn't have to worry long because, less than five minutes later, Rose came barrelling in with apologies for her lateness.

"Hi, mum!" She beamed, pulling her in for a hug.

Rose had given herself a pep talk on the way down to Hogsmeade. The longer she pretended her mother wasn't going to talk to her about the 'potions incident', the happier she would be.

"How have you been? How's dad?" Rose continued, eyes shining.

"Rosie, breathe," her mother chastised her, before ordering for her.

When her daughter was occupied with her butterbeer, Hermione took a deep breath and launched into it.

"Rosie, I must say, I'm extremely disappointed in you."

"But mum–"

"But nothing, Rose," Hermione stopped her. "I know you're growing up and you're going to want to do things with boys. I understand that, I really do."

Rose could feel herself flushing. Having inherited the Weasley hair, albeit a darker, more auburn shade, she had also inherited their volatile temperament and tell-tale blush.

"Mum!" She wailed.

"What did you expect, Rose?" Hermione challenged her, voice raised. "Because I certainly did not expect to get a letter from your Headmistress, a good friend of the family, might I remind you, demanding my presence at a meeting regarding my child's behaviour. Even then, I assumed it was Hugo being silly. It wasn't until poor Neville blurted it out that I even entertained the thought that I was being chastised for your stupidity and rampant hormones!" She ranted.

Rose was systematically shrinking in her chair, or so she felt. Her face had turned an unbearable shade of puce and felt like it was on fire. She exhaled loudly and tried to reason with her mother.

"I know it was stupid, mum," she said quietly. "Trust me, I feel like an idiot. So does Scorpius," she added.

"Oh, and we haven't even got to that, yet!" Hermione began again. "A Malfoy, really, Rosie? You're such a beautiful girl, I know you could do better," as soon as she said it, Hermione realised it was the wrong thing to say; of course, as soon as she told her to stay away from him, she'd go out of her way to be with him. She noticed her daughter's eyes flash angrily and waited for the onslaught.

"Mother, I love you. I do. But you don't get to tell me who is and isn't good enough for me. For your information, Scorpius is a brilliant wizard and a wonderful friend. He's kind and loyal and he cares for me. So whatever grudge you have against his father is something that I don't want translating to your feelings towards him," Rose told her firmly.

Hermione's eyes filled with emotion; her daughter had grown up before her very eyes. She was a bright girl, a lot like she had been at that age, and Hermione trusted her.

"I trust you, Rosie. You _are_ using the contraceptive spell, aren't you?" Hermione's eyes narrowed as she asked her.

Rose nodded, and broached the subject of the potion with her mother. They agreed to see a Healer when Rose returned for Christmas.

Hermione leaned across the table and hugged her daughter.

"Rosie? For the love of Merlin, don't ever do it outside either or your dormitories again," Hermione deadpanned.

Rose snorted and this set Hermione off. Together, the women laughed and enjoyed their drinks as Hermione worked up the courage to tell her.

"Mum, is something bothering you? You've been on edge ever since I got here," Rose observed.

"You always were a bright girl," Hermione smiled as she pushed her daughter's hair out of her eyes.

"What is it?" Rose encouraged her.

"I don't know how to say this, Rose. I know you'll be angry with me, but I hope you can, one day, understand my reasoning and accept that I'm just not happy this way," Hermione continued, staring into the dredges of her drink.

Rose held her breath, willing away her mother's obvious sadness.

"Your father and I are getting a divorce, Rosie," Hermione whispered.

"Why?" One word, so loaded.

"There were a lot of reasons. I stopped being happy a long time ago and only realised how disenchanted I was with our relationship when I walked in on him with his secretary," her voice didn't sound like her own. It was so expressionless, so bland, that Hermione found it difficult to believe it was leaving her own lips.

A gasp from Rose lifted her gaze. Her daughter's eyes were full of unshed tears.

"How long?"

"Have I known? A month, maybe," Hermione reached out for Rose's hand.

"Why didn't you tell me, mum?" Rose was crying silently.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "It was hard enough accepting that my marriage was falling apart without having to worry about the repercussions it would have on our family," she told her.

Rose ran around the table and hugged her mother fiercely, crying on her shoulder. Hermione stroked nonsensical patterns into her back, soothing her with a wordless melody.

After a few moments, Rose accepted the handkerchief her mother offered her and wiped her eyes.

"We're staying with you," she told Hermione firmly, with no room for argument.

"You're what?" She couldn't believe how forgiving Rose was.

"Mum, from what I've heard, you're having a horrid time. You need all the love and support you can get and Dad obviously has Susan," she sneered the name. "Hugo and I will stay with you, of course, and we'll see him whenever we want. If we want," she warned. Rose was not happy with her father it seemed.

Hermione couldn't help but ask, "Why? Why are you so understanding, Rosie?"

"Because if what I feel for Scorpius is an infinitesimal fraction of what you felt for Dad, and our relationship went sour, I'd want my best friend to be there for me. You're still my best friend, aren't you, Mummy?" Rose asked her.

Tears came to Hermione's eyes as she held her daughter. Her loyal, beautiful, brilliant daughter, who had made the confessions seem so simple.

She could only hope that her son was as sympathetic.

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><p><strong>Thoughts? Please review, I promise I'll get back to you! It's a miracle I even got this chapter out this weekend...<strong>


	10. Daddy Issues? What Daddy Issues?

**A/N: Sorry I'm late! This week has been crazy, I've been dealing with lots and lots of family stuff (none bad, all stressful) and I do have to start revising for the incredibly important exams coming up in the next couple of months. Consider this an advance warning, my updating 'schedule' - which, until now, I've stuck to for ten weeks or so - might become a lot less regular. I will continue to try posting every weekend, but don't hate me if I can't. I'M ONLY HUMAN! My wonderful friend Zazeems has looked at the first half of this chapter, but the second was written at two am and hasn't been checked, so excuse my mistakes! Read and review, bitches.**

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><p>Scorpius stretched, pulling his arms over his head and, judging by the movement in his lap, waking Rose in the process.<p>

One hand drifted downwards to play with her hair while the other rubbed sleep from his eyes.

"Rosie?" He whispered.

She grunted lightly, fidgeting, and he smiled. She was so defenceless in her sleep, no trace of the passionate woman he knew she could be.

"Rosie," He shook her gently.

"Scorp?" She squinted up at him, noticing the darkness in the common room. The only source of light came from the fireplace in the centre of the large space and its glow cast the room into shadow, barely illuminating the boy above her. "What time is it?"

"A little after two," he yawned, "And way past either of our bedtimes."

Rose rubbed her eyes, and was surprised to find them still wet.

"You cried in your sleep," Scorpius told her sadly, tracing salty tracks with his finger.

She was quiet. It had been a long day for both of them.

"Stay with me?" Rose made to stand and he stopped her with a hand on her waist.

"Of course, always," he smiled at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. Their casual relationship was, at times, a lot less casual than either of them would admit, nor would they want it any other way, and he picked up on her sadness.

She stood, taking one of his large hands in her small one, and led him out of the common room, to the Head's quarters. The guard painting, a young woman with obscenely long hair, trapped in a tower – a version of the muggle fairy tale, Rapunzel, perhaps – looked less than impressed with her for bringing a 'gentleman caller' so late at night, but upon receiving the password, she let them in.

Rose went through her nightly routine while Scorpius looked on in apprehension. He stood awkwardly at the foot of her bed, worried. She had been quiet ever since she had returned from her meeting with her mother and had spoken to him only to tell him her mother's reaction to their punishment.

She paused, mid-brush, to tell him his shirt and boxers were in her wardrobe, freshly laundered. He took the boxers and forewent the t-shirt. It was too warm and he liked seeing Rose wearing his team colours.

"I'm done in the loo," she told him, as she shut the bathroom door behind her. "You can use my toothbrush, if you want."

"Thanks," he said quietly. "Do you want the tee shirt?"

She nodded and he threw it at her. Rose undressed and, after opening a window, put on the shirt, inhaling deeply. She smiled, the first genuine one that evening. The Cannons shirt smelt of him, of mint and musk and warm boy. Her smile widened as she considered the odds of Scorpius and her father supporting the same shitty quidditch team. As quickly as it came, the thought of her father soured her mood and she found herself sniffing away tears as she added a pair of shorts and crawled into bed.

A weight on the other side of her mattress alerted her to Scorpius' presence. He shuffled forwards and laid his arm across her midsection. She leaned back into him and let him trace patterns into the skin of her stomach.

Scorpius leant forwards and whispered, blowing warm air into Rose's ear.

"Talk to me, Rosie. Please," he gently turned her over so that their foreheads were touching.

Face to face as they were, he could see the tears that threatened to spill over her eyelashes. Drawing her even closer to him, he kissed her eyelids gently, trailing his lips down to her chin. He pressed his lips to hers softly and her tongue darted out to taste salt on his. She pulled back slowly, willing herself not to cry anymore.

"My parents are getting a divorce," she whispered against his mouth, voice breaking. Scorpius inhaled sharply and pulled her head to rest on his chest as she shook silently.

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger's love story was one that little witches and wizards had been told about at bedtimes. They had been childhood sweethearts, best friends and eventually lovers. She was the intelligent, fiercely independent, muggle-born who had befriended the youngest male Weasley; an awkward and bumbling child, but loyal and in possession of a good heart. Years later, during their search for He Who Must Not Be Named's horcruxes, they realised they were in love. A small summer wedding following her graduation from Hogwarts and his completion of Auror training announced to the wizarding world that they had cemented their union. Immediately after, Rose was conceived, and a couple of years later, Hugo arrived. Despite the, sometimes slanderous, gossip that followed them, they seemed to be impervious to outside forces. Rose's family had its little bubble and were perfectly content, or so Scorpius had thought.

"Tell me," he urged her.

So Rose explained.

He felt as though his heart was breaking every single time her voice caught on a sob or a hiccup. Unable to share her pain, he settled for stroking her hair and softly kissing her temple.

"And the worst part is that I can't help but resent my father," she cried. "I know how hard my mum works and how much she wants to achieve, and it makes me sick to my stomach that he, the man who loves her, couldn't understand that," her bright blue eyes flashed angrily and he exhaled; his Rose was coming back to him.

Anger was good, it was natural. His eyes darkened as he relived the annoyance he felt, as a child, when his mother had brought home another young gardener or chef or pool boy. He wanted to share that with Rose, but he knew now wasn't the time.

"I know, love. But your mum needs you to be strong for her, right now. And I know better than anyone how strong you are," Scorpius told her with a chaste kiss.

Rose took his face her hands and kissed him fiercely, filling her embrace with the love that neither of them were brave enough to acknowledge.

With one final peck, she leaned back a little so that their foreheads were touching. Her smallest finger traced his lips absentmindedly as she took a moment to stare at him. In his silver grey eyes, which she knew changed colour constantly under different lighting, she saw the love she felt reflected back and the thought filled her with a lightheaded giddiness. They didn't need words as long as they both just knew. And Rose knew.

"I love you."

It slipped from her lips before her brain had a chance to berate her for it, but she couldn't say she had any regrets. Not when Scorpius' face broke out in a grin so wide it threatened to make him look almost friendly. She wanted to tease him about it, but saved that for another time.

"I love you, Rosie," he said, eyes shining.

It was his turn to kiss her, and kiss her he did.

Neither of them had any intention to stop, and when Rose sat up, kneeling on her bed and pulled his t-shirt off, he would swear he had never seen anything more beautiful.

That night, Scorpius Malfoy became a man. It had nothing to do with his voice breaking, or to do with losing his virginity. For the first time in his life, he felt nothing but love for one person and had showed it the best way he could. Making love to his girl had changed him, and he was damn certain he liked the new Malfoy.

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><p>Being the teacher's favourite had its perks, Hermione grinned as she waited outside the entrance to Diagon Alley. She had convinced Minerva, though it hadn't taken much effort on her part, to let Hugo take the day off. Her reasoning had been that they were so close to the end of the term, anyway, and she could probably teach him any of the missed lessons better than his professors. Faced with such an impenetrable argument, the Headmistress had turned a blind eye. Hermione suspected that if Minerva knew why she wanted to speak to her son today, she would have been sympathetic.<p>

She glanced at her watch, a gift from her parents for her thirtieth birthday, and huffed in irritation.

"Hi, mum!" Her son's voice called out cheerfully from behind her.

She spun around, arms open wide, ready to hug her little boy.

"Hugo!" Hermione wrapped her arms around her son and squeezed gently.

Taking a step back, she took a moment to appreciate the differences their months apart had made. Her son was caught in that awkward phase between the onset of puberty – his voice had broken months ago and he had grown six inches over the previous summer – and the self-confidence she hoped he would gain during the transition. He was tall and lanky, standing at least four inches over Hermione's 5'6'' frame, and sported the trademark Weasley carrot-top. In fact, she rather thought he looked a lot like Ron had at his age, all awkward bones and freckly skin.

"Well, come along, then," she told him, while she tapped against the wall with her wand.

The bricks parted for them both and they crossed through, entering Diagon Alley on a relatively quiet day. Due to it being a weekday, and term-time at the three major wizarding schools, few shoppers were out and about.

Hugo kept up a constant stream of chatter as they walked along the series of shops, from which she could only pick out the occasional phrase. From what she understood, he was talking so animatedly about quidditch – definitely a Weasley, and definitely his father's son.

As she wandered along, her son in tow, Hermione still marvelled at the shops' construction; many of them were built impossibly high, or held the strangest shapes. Magic still had the power to awe her.

Taking a left from Gringotts, she led him to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. There, she chose a table outside while Hugo bought their frozen treats. It was always the same; he had a double chocolate fudge sundae, covered with whipped cream and chopped nuts, and she had a couple of scoops of the seasonal sorbet. Today, she found dividing her bowl between blood orange and champagne flavoured ices.

When they were both comfortable, Hugo's slightly inane chatter died down.

"Muuuuuuuum," he dragged it out.

Hermione glanced up at him, quirking her eyebrow.

"We never come to Florean's unless we're celebrating something or you've got bad news. And since it's just the two of us, I'm going to rule out celebrations..." he trailed off.

"Wipe your top lip, dear. The fudge moustache is hardly becoming," she reprimanded, stalling.

"Mum, is this about the divorce?" Hugo asked off-handedly.

Coughing and spluttering, Hermione fought to regain her composure as she tried not to choke on her dessert.

"Divorce? What? Hugo, have you been talking to your father?" She asked him, deathly quiet, once she'd regained the capacity to speak.

Hugo watched her warily. His father shouted when he was angry. And, over the years, both he and Rose had been on the receiving end of Ron Weasley's bellowing anger. But their mother...her wrath was worse. She spoke extremely calmly when she was frustrated. The more worked up she felt, the quieter and more even she would become. This was not a good sign.

"Yeah, I have," he muttered.

"And?" Hermione waited for him to continue, the pause in conversation pregnant with her anxiety.

He couldn't help himself, and the words fell from his lips before he could even attempt to filter them.

"And what, mum? What did you expect me to say? That I was cool with you working all the time when we were younger? That I didn't see dad suffer when you weren't around, when you had a report to finish, or an essay to write? Cheating might have been drastic, mum, but I can see why he did it, and from where I stand, it's not his fault, it's yours," he spoke loudly, passionately, his words running into each other with his anger.

To Hermione, each thinly veiled accusation felt like a slap. She had never expected for Ronald to turn their children against her, yet here they were. Her eyes filled with tears against her will, and she whispered to her son, trying to make him understand.

"Hugo, sweetheart, I never meant for any of this to hurt you or your sister. Your father and I's problems are between the two of us and I don't like for one second that he's dragging you into this as thought it's some game for him to win," she glared at her son across the table. "I wanted to talk to you about living arrangements," she began, but he cut her off.

"That won't be necessary, mother," Hugo announced, in a voice and tone far beyond his fifteen years. She wondered if Ron had made him rehearse his little speech; the delivery was certainly wooden.

"Father intends to fight for full custody of both Rose and I," he informed her, adding as an afterthought: "Though, now that Rose is virtually of age, I suppose she can do whatever the hell she likes. But I'll be living with dad. You can visit whenever you want," he finished with a smile.

"Your father wants custody?" Hermione breathed.

Hugo hadn't even finished nodding his head when his mother's body went limp and she slid off the chair and slumped to the ground in shock.

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><p><strong>AN: Y'all might be interested in knowing that when I first started writing this, I never intended for Rose and Scorp to get in deep. They care about each other, but I was gonna keep them as fuck buddies. Characters talk to me, apparently, and these two have a more meaningful relationship than I thought. It's not a bad thing at all, it's just changed the dynamic a little. So, yeah. Oh, and Hermy's obviously very close to Rose (they're, like, the same person!) and Ron's close to Hugo. Both parents have issues communicating with the other child at times. **

**READ AND REVIEW.**


	11. Why's Granger Napping On The Ground?

**A/N: Hello, wonderful people! Firstly, an apology. I'm at least fifty reviews behind on replying :( I really feel that if readers can make time to review a story, the author should have the decency to reply to them. But my life's a teeny tiny bit crazy right now and exams are coming up and I figured that you lot would rather I wrote than replied. Please correct me if I'm wrong and PM me if you've got any particular questions you want answering. I'm not forgetting about the reviews, I promise - when I've finished the story, I swear I'll go back and reply to each one (however many hundred there may be...A GIRL CAN DREAM!). Now, thanks for the reviews! They keep me entertained, some of you are so funny. Please don't stop. EVER. The more reviews, the happier I'll be XD One anonymous reviewer pointed out that I'd made a couple of mistakes. I'm gonna throw my hands up and be honest: it's been five years since I've read an actual HP book. I've been reading fanfic constantly for the past couple but I haven't read any HP since DH, so obviously my details are a little shabby. My apologies. I'll try and go back when I've finished the story to change those, thank you for pointing them out. I originally had this twice its length, but it didn't flow.**

**Anyway, enough rambling. Thanks Zazeems for beta-ing. On with the show!**

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><p>"And I told her that there was no way in hell that the new Sleekeazy hair serum had anything on the Lovegood Brazilian potion!" The young blonde girl, a former Hufflepuff barely out of Hogwarts, tittered nervously to herself as she finished, and Draco gave her some credit for noticing he was bored off his tits.<p>

"Your hair looks great," he forced through thin lips.

Navigating her towards a lingerie boutique, a small red building housed between an owlery and a cauldron maker's, he suggested she go in and try on the lacy intimates in the shop window. She sauntered off with a swing in her hips and a smile that she thought looked coquettish. It turned his stomach, and he wondered briefly if he'd just had enough of mindless fucks. He snorted. He was an eligible wizarding bachelor, a millionaire in his own right and a billionaire by birth. He was handsome and young enough than he could still bed the twenty-somethings, but old enough that he had that air of sophistication birds went nuts about. No, he reassured himself. He was just in a rut. Perhaps he ought to stop with the blondes, maybe look up a brunette or two. Or a redhead; their fiery tempers were usually worth the bedroom antics.

His date was attractive enough, he supposed, just boring. He decided that he'd take a stroll through the Alley, giving her plenty of time to pick out pieces they could play with later. About a hundred metres from Florean Fortescue's place, he could have sworn he saw a head of bushy hair poking out from one of the outdoor tables.

Draco must have been subconsciously glancing at that table in particular; several years ago, he must have been a fifth or sixth year, he had broken up with Pansy Parkinson. He'd chosen the public location hoping she wouldn't make a scene. Apparently, she couldn't care less about who was listening as she bollocked him for taking her virginity and chucking her when he got bored. The following day, news of his 'sordid affair' was all over the wizarding press. His lips curved upwards into a smirk as he took a moment to remember his younger days.

His feet had led him to the ice cream parlour and he was astonished to find Hermione Granger passed out on the ground outside the small cafe. Next to her, looking a little confused and concerned looked was a child, no more than fifteen or sixteen, who looked like a Weasley. He wasn't sure which one, of course; they multiplied like rabbits, it would seem.

Cocking his head to one side, Draco regarded the unconscious woman. As amusing as it was to watch her taking an impromptu nap in public, he supposed he probably ought to revive her.

"Oi, Weasley child?" He kicked the boy's chair, hardly the most mature greeting.

The teenager looked up and Draco realised he must be Hermione's son. He had her eyes, Draco thought, if a little darker than her own caramel brown, but otherwise he looked virtually identical to his father.

"The name's Hugo. What can I do for you, Mr Ferret?" Hugo asked, voice laced with false sweetness.

"Why's Granger on the ground?" Draco raised his eyebrows at the revival of the Trio's nickname.

"Cos she fancied a bloody nap," the young boy retorted. "Merlin's beard, Mr Malfoy, what does it look like she's doing?" He asked, allowing some of that concern to colour his tone.

Draco nudged the woman with his shoe.

"It kind of goes without saying that you can't kick my mum..." Hugo trailed off as the intimidating blond shot him a dirty look.

Crouching down until he was closer to her face, he deduced that she had simply fainted. She didn't look like she'd hit her head on the way down and her cheeks still held a peach tint. Draco checked her pulse and found it beating steadily.

He considered asking the boy what had happened, but concluded if he was half as insolent as his father, it wouldn't be worth the effort. It was funny how similar children were to their parents, he thought with a small smile.

"Granger?" He looked at her, hoping for a response.

"No offense, mate, but it doesn't look like you're doing much, does it?" Hugo muttered, as Draco fought to resist the urge to punch the gangly redhead.

The violent urges were stopped by the shop owner's arrival. Old Mr Fortescue hadn't aged much in the years since Draco had last seen him; his dark hair seemed just as thick, if a little flecked with grey, and his eyes held the same humorous sparkle they had a decade ago.

"Mr Malfoy! It's wonderful to see you again," the friendly European greeted him, his voice only very slightly accented.

"You as well, Mr Fortescue, although I do wish it were under less...unusual circumstances," Draco replied charmingly, chuckling.

"Of course," Florean glanced at Hermione. "Ms Granger fainted a few moments ago."

"Uhm, Mr Fortescue?" Hugo interjected. "She's still called Mrs Weasley."

"My apologies, young Master Weasley. I was under the impression that your mother and father were divorcing, and thus she would be returning to her maiden name. My wife is good friends with Molly, you see," Florean explained.

Draco's eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

"Divorcing? You mean Granger's finally ridding herself of the abominable ginger tumour she calls a husband? Hallelujah!" This one, he hadn't been expecting.

"Yeah, uhm, I don't know about that..." the teenager seemed flustered and the blush creeping towards his ears only deepened his embarrassment.

Florean looked from one young man to the other and decided to leave them to it, returning to his laboratory. It was time for him to introduce the world to a pumpkin and maple syrup flavoured sorbet. Anyway, Draco Malfoy was a more than competent wizard and he was sure that there would be no problem reviving her.

Draco was still processing what he'd heard. Wonder Woman and The Weasel were no more. All he needed now was for Potter to get syphilis and the Golden Trio would be shot to hell. He sniggered at the thought.

However, he pushed immature musings to one side for a moment and focused on waking Hermione. He slid one hand into her thick hair and supported the back of her head as he raised her gently into a more seated position. Her legs rested on his lap while he stroked her cheekbones, pressing either side of her temple with his thumbs.

"Mr Malfoy? D'you want me to go find a real healer? Somehow, I don't think mum'll appreciate waking up in your lap," Hugo pointed out obnoxiously.

Draco gritted his teeth loudly enough for the harsh sound to become audible. "Granger, if you don't wake up soon, I might kill the kid. And while he looks just like that blithering idiot of a husband of yours, he's got your eyes," Draco was interrupted by Hugo, who apparently took offense to him badmouthing the infamous Ron Weasley.

Pointedly ignoring the teenager, he turned back to the woman in front of him. He sighed. It didn't look like she was going to wake up naturally, so he would have to provide a magical stimulus. He applied a little more pressure to her temple and non-verbally cast the reviving incantation. Technically, it was used to revive witches and wizards who had been stunned, but he reasoned that as she had most of the same symptoms as a stun spell victim, it should work.

It started slowly. First, her index finger twitched. Then it curled in on itself. Her eyelashes fluttered a little, and she scrunched her eyes tight. Her nose wriggled. She exhaled deeply. Then, without warning or preamble, her eyes opened wide.

A moment of confusion followed. Draco, pleased that he'd managed to revive her, looked at Hermione. The witch who just woke up from napping across her childhood nemesis' lap looked towards her son for answers. Hugo suddenly noticed the intricate pattern the scales made up on Malfoy's dragon hide boots.

"Hugo, sweetheart, would you like to explain why I'm stretched out on Malfoy's lap?" Hermione asked him. Draco very nearly snorted; Mini Weasel's fake sweetness had nothing on his mother's candied venom.

"I, uh, what I mean is..." Hugo stared at the sky and refused to make eye contact with his mother.

Hermione kicked her legs off Malfoy's, almost taking out his family jewels in the process.

"Oi, Granger, watch it!" He barked at her.

"Shut up, Malfoy, before I hex you to hell and back," Hermione glared while her son mumbled something about sorbet and disappeared.

"What is wrong with you?" Draco seemed genuinely perplexed. "Do you make it a habit to be this rude to your saviours?"

Hermione snorted. "Do you hear what you're saying when you open that pretty little mouth of yours, Ferret? You did not save me from anything," she spoke the last phrase slowly, patronisingly, enunciating each word.

Smirking, he shot back, "You think my mouth is pretty? I knew you wanted me in McGonagall's office, Granger. If you'd been half as forthcoming about it then as you are now, we might have had some fun while we were waiting," he added.

Her jaw dropped and her hand connected with his cheek. Hard.

"You are a despicable human being, Draco Malfoy. Stay the hell away from me and my family. I don't want to have anything to do with a scumbag like yourself," Hermione told him sharply.

Heat bloomed across Draco's face, not least from the slap the tenacious woman had thrown upon his cheek.

"Be that as it may, I'm not an uptight, stuck up, good for nothing bitch, am I, Granger?" Two could play with candied venom, he thought vindictively.

He stood up and brushed off his suit. He pulled out his wand and was on the verge of apparating the hell out of there, all thoughts of his date forgotten, when he turned back to her and, smirking, reminded her: "It's 'my family and I', Granger. Honestly, and I thought you were the bright one."

Draco could see the shoe aimed at his head flying towards him. He was too fast for her and disapparated. The shoe, undeterred, continued its trajectory and connected with her former Professor Trelawney's head.

Hurried apologies and another ice-cream later, Hermione felt calmer, but no less furious at her husband. Instructing Hugo to go home and floo back to Hogwarts, she apparated herself to Ron's – ready for war.

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><p><strong>AN: So...the next chapter sees Hermione ready to beat the shit out of Ron. Y'all ready for this? :P The one after the confrontation will be my favourite chapter to write, I can feel it, and I reckon you guys will love it too :D please keep reviewing, even if I can't always reply :(**

**LOVE.**


	12. Ground Swallow Me Up Now

**A/N: WOOOOOO! **

**My last chapter was the most reviewed of the story - thank you so much to the 25 people that left me a little comment and to everyone who read the story. I made a teensy tiny grammar mistake (MY APOLOGIES) and half of the reviews seemed to correct that but hey, any review's a good review :P People also commented that the last chapter was too short. It was, but I had intended to add these two together - creating a super chapter of over 5,000 words. So, here I present to you a much longer than average chapter. Don't get used to it ;) **

**Oh, and I updated a day early. **

***Correction, I had planned to update a day early. And then my beta (Zazeems, I love you!) told me Hermy was too angry :P she was more than a little scary...so edits had to be made. Anyhow, it's the thought that counts, isn't it?***

**Reward me with a review? LOVE.**

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><p>Up until a few months ago, there were several things that had remained constant in Hermione's life. Things she'd bet money on wouldn't change. For example, Rose would always speak up to correct professors whenever she felt a lesson was not being taught properly. Ginny would insist Hermione meet with her, Luna and the Patil twins for drinks every Friday, despite the fact that the young red-head refused to touch a drop of alcohol – she had been praying for a little girl ever since James had been born. Most of all, Hermione could always bank on Ron's carelessness.<p>

It wasn't that he was stupid, although there were many who would dispute that statement, he just had a tendency to repeatedly overlook things. Important things. Things like wards.

After Voldemort's death, Hermione had insisted on a strict security system for the homes of all former Order members. Sympathisers, while not overly active, did exist and presented a real danger to those who had fought for the Light. Anti-apparition wards were to be put in place, barring witches and wizards from apparating inside that home. The exception was the home's owners and a very small group of trusted friends and family members. In most cases, only half a dozen or so people were privy to apparate in and out as they pleased. In the case of Hermione and Ron's (and Harry and Ginny's) friendship with the Weasley clan, there were nearly a dozen or so of their friends who had direct access to their home. Of course, Hermione had designed the wards to be difficult to alter, so that they could not be easily changed under duress. She was willing to bet the entire contents of her Gringott's account on the fact that Ron had not bothered asking the senior aurors to remove her own apparition trace.

And, as several men had learned over the years, betting against the beguiling brunette was never a good thing.

After a quick trip home and a glass of wine to calm herself down – she wanted to beat Ron over the head with a frying pan, muggle-style, but didn't want Harry to have to deal with the paperwork – she reasoned that this would have to be kept to a battle of words, wit and will. And there was no way in hell she was losing. With a deep breath, she apparated to his porch doorstep.

How odd, she thought. She had expected to feel more nostalgic than she did, even expecting to mentally refer to the house as 'theirs'. When nothing of the sort occurred to her, what did, with grim realisation, was that it obviously hadn't been 'their' family home in a long time.

Snapping herself out of her melancholia, Hermione peered inside the front window. Everything was dark. A glance at her watch told her that it was not yet five o'clock; he would still be out, probably. With a shrug of indifference, she magicked herself into the kitchen...

...and stepped directly in what looked like a slice of pizza. Or, she thought, lip curling distastefully, it would look like pizza, if it hadn't been grey and hair and festering. She grimaced, turning her attention to the rest of the kitchen. Empty bottles of butterbeer and firewhisky covered every square inch of worktop. The remains of yesterday's, and last week's and a fortnight ago's, greasy take-aways lay strewn around on her once resplendent marble tiled floor. Disgusted, she risked a look in the fridge. Her enquiring gaze was met with more alcohol, including, curiously, a vintage bottle of elf-made wine. She enjoyed it, but she knew for a fact that Ron did not. Did his mistress?

The gears in her head started rolling with a vengeance. What was that old muggle adage? Keep your friends close and your smarmy soon-to-be-ex-husband closer. Or words to that effect, she sniggered. Plan already forming, Hermione crossed the room and rummaged around in the cupboards for bin bags. Having found some, she levitated all the bottles, boxes and cardboard containers into the black liners. A few well-placed 'scourgify' charms and some good old fashioned elbow grease later and the kitchen, at least, was starting to look presentable.

Hermione ventured into the living room and found it in a similar, if slightly better, state. Resolved to restore the house to standards fit for human existence, she scrubbed and scoured until the kneazles came home. The only room she didn't dare enter was Ron's bedroom. There was no way in hell that she could cope with finding another woman's intimates in and around what had once been her marriage bed.

Returning to the kitchen, she noticed an hour had passed. Assuming he had no commitments, and without a job it was unlikely he'd be busy, Ron would be making his way home within the hour.

Quickly, then, she apparated to an alley just around the corner from the nearby muggle corner shop. There, she picked up the necessary ingredients for wild mushroom risotto; a meal she loved and he hated.

She returned to the house, sighing, wondering if she'd lost the moral high ground. By baiting him with her immature behaviour, wasn't she just being petty? Oh, no, argued her inner devil. Giving him a good dressing down in private and a legal arse-kicking in public was not the same thing as cheating on one's spouse. It wasn't very nice, though, and Hermione Granger liked being nice. But sometimes it couldn't be helped, and she wasn't harbouring particularly 'nice' sentiments towards Ron anymore, so she felt her point was moot.

Preparations for the meal under way, Hermione took a moment to cast a temporary styling charm on her hair, which promptly deflated from its usual wild mass of curls to a more tameable wave. She pinched her cheeks to enhance her natural blush, then flushed anyway as heat rose to her cheeks in embarrassment; it wasn't as though she was trying to impress him, so why was she so concerned with her appearance? Besides, a snide voice reminded her: no amount of primping could have stopped his eye from wandering. The masochistic thought gave her anger, bringing with it strength.

So she waited, stewing in her anger, for her husband to return home.

By the time he did, a little before seven, Hermione had placed a warming charm around the risotto and was tapping her fingernails impatiently against the kitchen counter.

She heard, rather than saw, him coming. The loud crack of apparition echoed around her as did his voice, when he yelled through to the kitchen, having noticed the light.

"Gin, that you?" Hermione could hear him throw his boots into the cupboard under the stairs and waited for him to come to her.

"Gin?" He called again, louder this time.

Ron rounded the corner and his eyes widened as he took in his wife sitting at the dining table, legs crossed delicately, looking completely at ease.

"Hermione?" He asked tentatively.

"Ronald," she acknowledged politely.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ah, the famous Weasley tact. Hermione almost chuckled to herself.

"Would you rather I wasn't here?" She replied. "This is technically still our home," the word felt bitter upon her lips, "and I noticed you hadn't readjusted the wards."

"No, no, no!" Ron quickly backtracked. "This is just a surprise, that's all."

Hermione merely smiled at him, an action which seemingly unnerved him given the wary expression on his face.

"Can I get you something to drink?" He stuttered, remembering his manners.

She couldn't help it, she snorted. It was much to his embarrassment and her amusement.

"Ronald, I've just spent the past hour cleaning the kitchen. And the living room. And the dining room. And the bedrooms. I think I can get myself a drink," she told him disparagingly.

She had purposefully left out the detail of not having been in his room, curious to see his reaction. He didn't disappoint; Ron's face flushed to the point where the colour was undeserving of being associated with the colour 'red' and, instead, took on decidedly purple, almost puce, undertones.

"Well, you see, the thing is...I've been really busy and haven't had time and all the take-aways were so easy and you know I can't cook! As for the stuff in our," he paused to correct himself, flinching slightly, "my bedroom, uh, uhm, I can explain!" He offered weakly.

Hermione resisted the urge to slap him upside the head.

"Oh, do shut up, Ron," she told him impatiently. "Just come sit down and we can talk about his like civilised adults. I hope," she added under her breath.

Ron followed her into the kitchen, often stepping a little too close for comfort, and pulled a couple of butterbeers out of the fridge.

Offering her one, he opened his with his teeth, in what he thought, no doubt, was a display of masculinity. She just thought it a bit unsanitary.

"Ron? We were married nearly twenty years and you didn't once notice that I hated butterbeer," Hermione shook her head, irritated, and reached for the wine.

"You can't have that!" Ron blurted out.

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

When no explanation came, she waved her wand delicately but skilfully at the cork and it popped off, hitting his forehead.

"Hermione!" He bellowed.

"Ron, I'm so sorry!" She cried, internally giggling. "I'm sure that blotchy pink mark will fade soon," she reassured him, smirking behind her glass.

"No, no, it's fine," he grumbled, rubbing his head. "Blimey, love, this smells horrid! It's not mushrooms, is it?"

He clearly didn't notice the effect his patronising pet name had on her – he was too busy trying to stick his entire head in the magically enlarged saucepan.

The desire to hit him with the wooden spoon sitting there so innocently next to the pre-prepared parsley was so strong that she had to clasp both hands around her wine glass to avoid it.

She sighed loudly and confirmed his suspicions.

"Yes, Ron, it's mushroom risotto. I thought you loved mushrooms," she told him, sweetly, appearing apologetic for the slip.

He mumbled and grumbled to himself some more before giving up and seating himself on one of the bar stools as he watched her cook.

Hermione could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head and was incredibly glad she'd chosen a sensible cardigan over her jeans. The thought of him staring at her naked skin just made her feel uncomfortable.

Ron wasn't sure why his wife had returned so unexpectedly, but he was determined to make the most of it.

When he'd been talking to the lads about it the other day, a couple of them had assured him she'd come back. She'd have to – who else would want her? He had nodded along with them, secretly unconvinced. Hermione had turned into a rather beautiful woman in her years after Hogwarts and now, a couple of years shy of her fortieth; she seemed to be in her element. He doubted it would be long before men started sniffing at her heels. And men there would be: half-bloods, purebloods, it didn't matter; decades after the war, blood purity didn't mean much except to a select few; and the men of the old wizarding families had been taking an interest in her. He wondered if she would meet someone else, fall in love with them, have their children.

A surge of resentment built in him. None of those men had the right to touch her. He had been her first. First love, first sex, first everything. He was her husband and if he couldn't have her, no-one could.

The conflicting emotions played out across his face and Hermione, who was a hell of a lot more observant than her husband, seemed to get the gist of his thoughts.

Waving the wooden spoon in his face, just tantalising inches away from his nose, she got his attention and handed him a plate full of risotto and gestured towards the table.

They sat down in silence and began eating.

Hermione was perfectly content waiting for him to speak. He couldn't deal with silence, while she was at home surrounded by nothing but stillness.

He was picking at his food.

Every now and again he would glance up at her and they would make awkward eye contact for a moment or two, before he would go back to staring at his plate.

"Is something the matter, Hermione?" He asked her, looking up from his plate, setting aside his cutlery and clasping his hands around his beer bottle.

"Why ever would you think that, Ronald?" She asked him, in a voice devoid of discernible emotion. She wondered if she was laying it on a little thick, but dismissed the idea; it was Ron. If it wasn't thick, they'd be here all day.

He looked at her a little strangely before continuing: "It's just that you seem a little...off."

"Off?" She repeated calmly.

"Yeah, like there's something bothering you," he added, blue eyes wide and concerned.

It was when he leant over to lay his heavy hand on her fingers that she cracked.

"Something bothering me?" She echoed.

Hermione stood from the table and returned with the bottle of wine. This time, she didn't bother with a glass and put her lips straight it.

Ron blanched.

After taking a healthy swig of wine, she felt her cheeks flush with a combination of anger, passion and pride.

"Yes, Ron, you're right," she applauded him, clapping her hands softly. "Something is definitely bothering me."

Ron leaned forwards in his chair and gazed at her intently, willing her to continue.

"Imagine my surprise when, after taking Hugo out for ice-cream, I had to hear from my fifteen year old son that his father is attempting to fight for full custody," Hermione's tone remained deceptively high.

He just stared at her wordlessly, unsure of how he could maximise damage control.

"I didn't believe it, and I told him so. After all, you and I had, quite clearly, agreed that if I gave you half the property and the patent royalties, you'd leave the children to me. We'd agreed, hadn't we, Ronald?" She asked him lightly.

He nodded, stunned, planning his escape route if things turned ugly.

"So when he told me that, no, his father had told him directly, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to fight for full custody of both him and Rose, I fainted."

Eyes flashing, she continued. "Hermione Granger does not faint, Ronald," she spoke slowly and clearly, each word dripping with condescension. The facade of normalcy had worn off and the hostility rolled off her in waves.

"Now, do you understand why, in these extenuating circumstances, I might be a tad upset? And why I thought that warranted a visit to your dirty little hovel of a home?" She spat at him, furiously.

"Hermione," Ron began softly, willing her to calm down.

She reached for the wine, just as he told her to: "Relax."

Her eyes flashed dangerously as she contemplated punching him in the face. And her eyes flicked to her wand as she considered sending a hex his way, just for good measure.

"Don't you dare tell me to relax, Ron Weasley!" She yelled at him, as her frustration grew and hit a peak.

"Shit," he whispered, "Forget I said any–" Hermione interrupted him.

"Yes, Ronald, 'shit' is right," she whispered. "Just tell me one thing. One thing. Why? Why, after years of living a life of luxury paid for by my Gringotts accounts, must you take my children away from me?" With each step, she was out of her chair and stalking towards him.

He had risen, too, and she circled him as she waited for his response.

Ron had never believed that his wife was capable of such a display of pure, unadulterated emotion. When she traced a finger down his spine, he almost jumped out of his skin.

"The money!" He cried, flinching, waiting for her blow.

"You, what?" Hermione's anger fell several notches as disbelief took its place.

"The lawyer mentioned something about you having to pay me child support if I took the kids..." Ron muttered, staring at the ground.

"You must be joking, Ron. Because there's no way even you could think this would actually work," Hermione snorted. His stupidity and ignorance had neutralised her mood and the red-tinged haze had finally cleared; she could think plainly.

"It doesn't matter who they live with anyway," Ron added, rub salt into his own self-inflicted wounds, "Cos they're at Hogwarts for most of the year anyway. So it's not a big deal, is it?" He smiled at her, convinced he'd made a great point.

"Oh, Godric, forgive me for what I'm about to do," Hermione muttered, before bringing her right hand back and releasing it in a hard slap which resulted in an angry red handprint on his cheek.

Ron was stunned. He'd expected a slap at least once, but he thought he'd succeeded in calming her down.

Clearly, he was wrong. Again...

"You stupid, ignorant, vile little bastard!" Hermione yelled at him. "Smarmy, obsequious coward!" She cursed at him for a good minute or two until she felt her anger abate.

"It is a very big deal. It's a big deal, husband," she spat, "because I care about my children and I love them more than anything else on this earth. There is no way in hell, Ronald Bilius Weasley, that you are getting your grimy paws on them. I would sooner die than let them be with you."

At this she stepped forward until she was flush with his chest. She could feel him breathing and she could feel his pulse accelerate as she leaned in until her lips were brushing his ear.

"I will find the best magical lawyer in the country, Ronald, and then I will kick your sorry ginger arse all the way to Hogwarts and back. I want to have nothing to do with you between now and our court date, you sorry excuse of a wizard."

Hermione took a step back and watched him visibly relax. Hand on her wand, she apparated directly to the ministry.

Taking a lift to the sixth floor, she found herself outside the magical law offices.

She approached the secretary, a young blonde woman currently penning a memo.

When the girl looked up at her, Hermione tried for a forced smile.

"I need the name and contact details of the department's best lawyer," she told her, aware she was being rude but unable to do more than flash an apologetic look at the other woman.

"Of course, Ms Granger, I'll be right back."

Hermione watched her jump out of her chair and scurry away. She returned minutes later, with a single scrap piece of parchment.

"Here you are, Ms Granger. He's incredibly busy at the moment, but I'm sure he'll make an exception for you," she gave Hermione a winning smile.

But Hermione's vision was already blurring. Because there was no way that this could be happening. There must be a mistake. There had to be. Yet there it was. Written in small cursive handwriting, black ink still damp, on lightly yellowing parchment:

_"Draco Malfoy,_

_Esteemed magical lawyer specialising in family law,_

_The Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England."_

The hand holding the piece of parchment involuntarily curled into a fist, crushing the note.

Hermione Granger hated asking for help.

Asking Draco Malfoy for help was going to be more painful than a play date with a dozen Blast-Ended Skrewts.

Hermione did the only thing she could.

"Dammit!" She hissed, as she lightly banged her head on the wall for a few moments.

Unfortunately, when her head stopped spinning and reality kicked in again, she looked at the note; the writing hadn't changed.

Hermione sighed heavily.

"Ground?" She said aloud, staring at the marbled floor beneath her feet. "Swallow me up. Now."

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><p><strong>AN: Oh, and I just got into POTTERMORE! I spent the whole day screaming up and down in excitement. I assume many of y'all are already on (those who aren't, you know what to do!) so add me - HawthornPotion30119. What houses are everyone in? Wands? Also, does anyone know when the second book comes out? I heard a rumour that tis around Xmas. This true? Also, HOW CUTE WAS MINERVA'S BACKSTORY? I nearly died. I really wanna write McGonagall a one shot...but I wanna write the meeting between Lily/James and Vernon/Petunia more. Would y'all read that? XD **

**Review! **


	13. A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement

**Dear Readers, **

**I'm a terrible person. I'm so, so sorry I left you all waiting for almost two years for an update. RL has been so crazily busy - I'm at one of the world's most selective and intensive universities and I barely have time for sleep, never mind to write. This is not my best work, for sure, but I needed to give you guys something to read. Hopefully will update some more soon. I haven't proof-read this, by the way. I'm in the market for a new beta, so if anyone's interested, please drop me a message! **

**Again, I'm sorry. I hope this story still has some readers. Please review, if only to tell me what a bitch I've been for not updating! **

**HP love xxx**

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><p>After the awful revelation that Malfoy was the best family lawyer in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Hermione went straight home and to bed. She could feel a migraine coming on and needed to make decisions on a clear head; something her present state of mind could not be further from.<p>

First thing in the morning, she sent Malfoy an owl. The message was concise and direct.

_Dear Malfoy, _

_As much as it pains me to say this, I need your help. It's professional. When are you available to discuss it? _

_Best, _

_Hermione Granger._

She read through it four times before tying it to her owl and sending it. It was brief, but it wasn't rude.

When he'd showed up at her front door this evening with nothing but a briefcase and a bottle of elf wine, she was surprised, but not overly so. Malfoy had never been one to follow the rules.

"Are meetings too mundane for you, Malfoy?" She asked him, ushering him into her apartment.

"You wanted my help, Granger. Word of advice? Don't piss me off and I'll think about doing you a favour," he barked.

She balked. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate. Come into the kitchen. We can talk while I cook. Do you like Italian food? I'm making chicken parmesan."

"Sounds great, thanks," he said, following her into the kitchen.

He wasn't sure if he should have called her out on her attitude. He knew this must have something to do with her divorce, and he certainly knew it was a sensitive subject. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything.

Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

She had turned to face him as they entered the kitchen – a room filled with, you guessed it, cookbooks of all shapes and sizes, as well as what looked like the ingredients for a small banquet.

"As you know, Ronald and I are getting a divorce," she looked to him for confirmation before continuing. "As I'm sure you, and others, strongly suspect, Ronald did nothing after gaining his Auror qualifications and lived quite happily off my patent earnings after the War. His lawyer, however, has informed me that, as my loving husband, Ronald," she drew quotation marks with her fingers, " 'supported' me in my earning and is now entitled to half my remaining assets."

Draco nodded. "Standard procedure, carry on."

"As the majority of my assets are in the form of properties all over the world, Ronald and I halved them between us on the condition that he tells our family and friends, and I tell the children, of whom I am to retain full custody."

He gestured for her to keep going.

She took a deep breath and busied herself with the food for a moment.

"When you found me passed out under a table at Fortescue's, my fifteen year old son had just told me that his father intended to fight me for full custody."

Draco's mouth dropped open, but this didn't stop Hermione.

"Want to know why? Because his lawyer mentioned something about child support. That stupid, greedy, selfish, spineless little man wants more money, and is willing to take my children away from me in the process."

She turned to the tomatoes she was chopping for the sauce. She punctuated each word of her next sentence with a heavy thud of her knife as it sliced through the tomato's soft flesh.

"I will not let him have my children, Draco."

She spun back to face him, breathing heavily. Her hair was askew and her eyes were bright with anger.

"Will you help me? Please, Draco. I'll pay you, I'll do anything you want," she begged him, not realising that she didn't have to. He'd already made up his mind before he arrived.

"I won't take your money, Granger. God knows I've got enough of it as it is, and I'm sure your spineless excuse for a husband will try and swindle you out of more than his fair share, anyway."

"Does that mean you'll do it? You'll help me?" Her face lit up.

"I'll do what I can. But the priority is to save your children. Weasley can't take care of a bloody potted plant. I wouldn't trust him with living, breathing, people."

She laughed, and it was as much a release of tension as it was amusement.

"Point taken," she said. "Now, where do we go from here?"

"Well, a good place to start would be your assets. You said you informally divided them up with Weasley a few days ago?" Draco asked.

"Yes, before I spoke to Rose and Hugo, before all of this blew up."

"You didn't record the conversation, did you? Or had it in front of witnesses?"

"No, not at all. We haven't even told our closest friends yet," she told him.

"So he could easily lie and tell the Council that you offered him custody in exchange for certain properties..." Draco trailed off, talking to himself.

"But that's preposterous! And an outright lie. Nobody will believe him, surely?" Hermione was aghast.

"Sure they can, unless you've got evidence to prove otherwise," Draco said. "This isn't going to be easy, Granger."

Hermione rubbed her eyes in frustration.

"Do you want a drink? I need a drink," she said, before disappearing into a cupboard above the sink.

Draco could only watch her agitated form reach for the bottle of Ogden's Old at the back of the shelf. Obviously struggling, he stood to help. His eye could not help but catch the pale strip of skin just visible above the band of her jeans, where her top had ridden up with her efforts.

"Damn it," she muttered, turning to grab a chair to stand on, in doing so smacking straight into Draco's chest.

"Steady on, Granger," he said, pushing her shoulders back gently. "Need a hand?"

She blushed. "It's about time I got better at asking you for help, isn't it?"

"Dunno, Granger. Sounds like a rhetorical question to me," he teased, stepping around her to pluck the bottle of its shelf.

She went to get glasses and, upon her return, he laid a hand on her elbow.

Hermione looked at him, a question already forming in her eyes. Before she could open her mouth, though, he spoke.

"I need you to trust me on this. This is what I do every day, and I'm damn good at my job, Hermione. I won't let him get away with this," he told her, full of sincerity.

Hermione felt her eyes tighten, but she swore she wouldn't cry again. Not over this, not so soon, and certainly not in front of Draco Malfoy. She supposed she should stop seeing him as the enemy.

She looked up at him, noting, once again, the difference in their heights. His eyes had lightened from their normal hard, charcoal to a much lighter silvery grey. He looked suddenly younger, but sure of himself. A lot like the boy she knew in school, with one key difference: they were allies this time around.

She smiled at him, a real, genuine smile. He thought, in that moment, that there was nothing more beautiful than seeing sad, tear-stained Hermione Granger smile like she had something to live for again.

"I do, Draco. And I just want you to know how much this means to me," she said, raising her fingers to brush his cheek.

He took a step towards her, without really thinking about what he intended to do.

All thoughts of firewhiskey forgotten, the pair looked at each other, neither sure of the other's next move.

Hermione realised her hand was still cupping Draco's cheek and withdrew it immediately, her own cheeks turning a furious shade of crimson.

"Firewhiskey?" She asked. "Now I really need a drink," she said, half to herself and half to the man in front of her.

"Sure." If she was going to ignore their curiously sentimental moment – for it was a moment – he would, too. "Can I get some parchment and a quill? I should start drafting plans for the case."

"A pen and some paper is the best you're going to get; I've been meaning to restock for a few days, just haven't found the time."

"Close enough," he smiled. "Trust you to do things the hard way, the muggle way, even after thirty odd years of magic at your fingertips."

"I like pens!" she defended herself.

"And I like you," he said, before he could stop himself. Saving himself, he continued. "What I mean is, I like that you're not afraid to embrace your heritage, taking the good with the bad. There are days when I wonder if I'm dragging the Malfoy name through the mud by refusing to associate myself with my family, or if it's been dragged so far that there's no saving it."

"There's always something left to save," she said, eyes shining with determination. "There just needs to be someone around to save it."

He smiled, never having thought of it like that. Unsurprising, really, that it was Granger that would come up with such an optimistic way of looking at things.

"Anyway, I think I've worked out how I can repay you," she said, voice rising with excitement.

He looked up from his work, and Hermione noted that his handwriting hadn't changed a bit; it was still as loopy and cursive as it had been all those years before.

"Oh?" He sounded interested, but couldn't help needling her. "Are you finally embracing the world of casual sex, Granger? Are you propositioning me?"

"Go to hell, Malfoy," she shot back, but without much inflection. "I think I can save your name, if you pull your head out of the gutter long enough to listen to me."

Now she had his attention.

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"It's simple, really. Who in this room is a publicist's worst nightmare?" She asked.

He raised his hand.

"Very good. Now who here is the same publicist's wet dream?" She asked again.

He pointed at her.

"Well done!" She praised him.

"Are you going to stop being so damn patronising soon and get to the point?" Draco said, ignoring her tone.

"Like I said, it's simple. I propose we spend more time in public, at Ministry events, at social gatherings etcetera. The more people that see you with me, the more that's written in the papers about us spending time together, the less negative the stigma around your name will become," she concluded.

"So you're suggesting we pretend to date?" He asked her, eyes wide. "Do you know how unethical that is? I'll be laughed at if I represent you in court."

"Not 'date'," she said, lips pursed as she thought of the right word.

"We just need to be seen together. We'll tell people we reconciled our differences and are trying to be friends for the sake of our children's relationship," she said, smiling as she remembered her chat with Rose.

Draco thought about it before he replied.

"What do I have to lose? Sign me up for the double dates. I'm sure our kids will love it."

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><p><strong>Let me know what you thought. Sound off in the reviews, and let me know where you think this story is going! <strong>


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